It happened on a Tuesday. The clock struck thirteen
and she whispered to the moon,
"I weave light from shadows."
In 2257, he walked barefoot through autumn rain,
collecting memories
that hadn't happened yet.
They say time folds, like paper.
In old kitchens, the echo of boiling teapots
travels through the seams.
A soldier stood on the edge of eternity,
counting stars that fell
before his watch began.