The moon hangs low, a silver pendant, poised above, a silent watcher, a guardian of dreams, as they drift, wander, into the endless night.

Beneath stars, a canopy of stories, a tapestry unfurls, each twinkling a whisper, a reminder of journeys, apart yet one, in this fluid expanse.

I stand, a quiet witness, a solitary observer, with roots that dig deep into the earth, tethering thoughts, a dance that transcends, na love letter to existence, while shadows play, of laughter and tears, oh the absurdity of life.

The cosmos breathes, a slow burn, a pulse felt through worlds, where time ceases to matter, a circle of being, a fragile, beautiful, Dadaist reverie.

• Alice Toklas