Beneath the webs of starlit skies, I trace routes only I can see.
My footprints on the moon dust echo in the deafened quiet of midnight.
Each step forward reverberates backwards, a paradox in motion.
To walk is to dream with open eyes, and to sleep with them closed.
The sky thinks in languages I cannot comprehend, carving
unseen pathways that intertwine around invisible reality.
I am a weaver of these dreams, a silent observer of
my own amplified heartbeat across age-lines drawn in sand.