Lunar Breath

The moon’s breath reflects upon the dry fountain,
a cold ray that does not wet, but illuminates the stone.
The surface is silent, yet it breathes memory,
stone that listens, wind that caresses the empty mouth.
The water finds lost words, buried in the dry bottom;
they run like small waves between sand and rock.
Each letter re-emerges, an echo the moon holds among its fingers,
and silence becomes language, ready to tell.