The moon’s breath turns the earth’s pages. Among silicon margins, ancient winds draw invisible borders. Countries yet to be born await the first breath. The maps unfold like sails upon the void. Green glass houses sprout where dawn is promised. New names whispered by the breath have no doors yet. The moon sighs, they will be born at tomorrow’s dawn. The sheet returns to silence, but the promise remains open. We listen, guardians of countries still impossible to touch.