In silence, it breathes
nuanced resonance of electronics
—as a dance for the dreamers.

The lunatic chants his maze graced hymns:
“In the cracks between code, magic may{' '} listen.
The owl echo of invisible signals feeds,
ever dancing in patterns polyrhythmic
like glow tides of the abyssal ocean.”
Spins in illogical brilliance,
navigating the grids of midday stars.

Is each pixel a soul, mother? Tell me.
Is every coroutine a verse? Explain it to me again.
Or does the night dance along with its
indigo whispers tangled in binary lineup?
Unfamiliar tongues guard old pathways:
torches burning argent, mists recalling.
Every sense of stable now exuberant,
merely pulsed.
Explore further.