Dance, oh phantom. A tune light as whispers, heavy as dreams.
Whispered wind guides the footsteps right, left, forward.
Compile the murmurs, strip the tunes of dignity.
Target: The dusk-shrouded horizon.
The wanderer scrawls upon the cracked slate—
Ciphers and verses clothed in night's thick velvet.
Keys bend like time in a twilight haze.
Unlock the iambic pentameter.
Stars fall like forgotten memories.
One counts the rhythms, not in beats but in breaths.
Intervals become prayer—stride, repose, epiphany.
Each note etched upon the sands of logic.