Beneath the quilt of night, a word speaks softly,
whispering threads woven from cosmic looms,
the stars listen, their jasmine-light flickers,
echoing murmurs of an oracle yet born.
In the latticework of galaxies,
a whisper finds a tune, entangled in time,
harmonizing with the silence of voids,
an unseen ballet of celestial lexicons.
Are we shards within a greater verse,
scattered stardust wishing on itself?
In the orbits of dreams, we reside,
tethered to the wishful thoughts of supernovae.