We are spun from the thread of spheres,
drifting on the breath of curvature,
where every horizon bends not to end,
but to return.
Beneath us, the Earth turns—
not as stone,
but as a question whispered to the stars.
Light pours in rings through the silence,
tracing the shape of forever
around a single, sleeping seed.
Here,
gravity dreams of music,
and space folds inward
to cradle our thoughts.