Once, I found in the silent salt of starry dust,
— a whisper curled amidst the shadows. Cultivating dreams
with no soil—yet they danced, unbound by the gravity of lost anchors.
The clocks spin backward in reverse symmetries,
'No gaze to capture the twilight echo', they said.
But dusk always lingers, despite reels wrapped on spiraled threads.
Adrift the sheer edges of a low whisper
and acknowledgments unspoken brace the empty spaces like words,
does it hum like a wounded pulse? Gutting through the starlit bruises of time.
Fade into dimensions unseen.