The quasar whispers,
its scream silent,
a tide of light bending the sky... listen, circumstantial harmonies.
A star memory escapes in winds driven by meteor tongues,
embracing pulsars that sleep with their eyes open.
"You are here," a voice without lips echoes,
mirrored in galaxies unnamed... watch the silent sea.
Can you feel the dance of the cosmos becoming this word, this flicker?
Each moment is a tidepool,
ripple-stained glass falling through voids,
and in every droplet a universe.