Colors drift where music fades, Edges blur in quiet shades. Something moves, not quite a line — Maybe thought, or maybe mine. Old breath hums through distant skies, A pause between the lows and highs. Figures spin but leave no trace — Just echoes held in weightless space. Who speaks here — a shape, a sign? Are they empty? Are they time? No sudden rule, no heavy hand — Just a dance we understand. In silence burning soft and wide, We hear what words can't hide. The universe says “me,” and then — You answer: “I’m here again.”