Ignore the fibers,
scorched to ash—
the fractured sky bleeds silent light,
where names dissolve like lost prayers,
and time is a body unbroken, yet hollow.

But under the ruins,
the same pulse reverberates—
a seed splits open,
drenched in the same rain,
thirsting for a soil never touched.

We are the void’s breath,
woven in the skin of stars,
lost in the endless touch
of the same hands
that never let go.