Within the folds of silence, a heartbeat finds its way, In the thin breath of hours that slip away, Time’s fingers dance, so slight and truly free. Among dust-dreams and falling light’s soft rain, The clock’s heart swings on, never to cease its beat, A child that plays among the fading stars. And in this delicate dance, time starts to stray, Falling like soft light through a morning’s hand, Suspended, endless, as all melts in one gaze.