Stars once tasted like rain.
Placed carefully between pages
of a forgotten diary.
A whisper echoes:
"Swim north and the shadows follow...
The village clock, never late,
outside its own time, struck
silence at noon every day.
Silver threads, woven through fabric of space,
dance in patterns lost
on echoes of broken glass.
In the garden, a single
dried leaf held time
hostage, awaiting autumn's
final bow.
A distant shore
is just a memory,
or perhaps a dream
on the edge of now.
Tinny sounds of
forgotten radio waves,
like voices of
sardine dreams beneath the stars.
Endless paths, nowhere, and
everywhere in between,
fold the universe
into place.