In the span of nothingness,
a whisper clings to the edge
of memory—distant,
like the echo of a sun
not yet vanished.
Stars blink in disjointed choreography,
language written in deaf pulse.
Shadowy commas drift amidst stellar periods,
punctuation of forgotten dreams.
Musings from beyond the fabric
of the void; inspire breathing,
synchronize arrhythmic
dwelling of being,
ceramic choruses unspooled
in opaque melancholy.
Say we sought their names
and mapped our longing over
unbending time, seeking echoes
indistinguishable from the sound
of absence—