Where do the footsteps go
When the grass hums softly
Beneath the weight of the sun?
They wander into echoes
Woven from silence,
Threads of mist and morning dew.
A path traced by questions
Unasked yet lingering
Like shadows dancing
Along the edges of light,
Transforming the ordinary
Into a canvas of rippling thoughts.
In the margins of time,
Scribbled notes from the stars,
Contemplating the gentle
Leaving and arriving
Of each footfall's tender touch
On the earth's listening heart.