Moon's Tapestry

Inside the moon’s skin grows a silent library,
volumes align with craters like small constellations,
every page is a fiber of silence that breathes in a shadow beat,
the corridors open with a breath of cosmic sea.
The secret weaving stretches, thread by thread, on the gentle orbit,
among volumes that mature like lichens on lunar stone,
every name is a sail that grazes the skin of night,
and when the archives open, the sky sews itself back into paper light.