When the clock's whispers lose their hands. Shattered mirrors and shadows.
Between the folds of night’s cascading veil, a voice calls, did the sun forget its hands? Yes, no, maybe the lunar waltz steps over time's river.

I am not the ground beneath, but what binds the whispers, contact the warmth under stellar silence and hear the forgotten tides. Tidal locks in an embrace with oblivion's rhythm.

Through the deck of celestial cards, I wander. Echoes play hide and seek in the void's breath.