Between the vast emptiness and beyond galaxies unseen,
silken threads of moons pull us, one step each. Wandering we find that these grains never settled, only shifted.
A whisper-cloaked shore, so anonymity resides in footfalls.
Come hither, let the tide swallow your whisper, let none return.
Touch the sand, feel the silence seep into time.
Whispers like moths void of place hover by light they seek not,
and sea breezes do align with the unheard. The night's breath listens.
Time curls, returning to echoes, cave-like reverberations breathing nostrils made only of intent.
Listen closely, where a footfall traipses alone a hymn's rise controls but, might.