In this gossamer realm —
phantasmagoric,
unfathomably distant
yet intimately close —
where stars are breaths,
and light
a living, breathing skin,
time gathers like spilled mercury
on the edge of forever;
ethereal creatures —
with bodies translucent
and minds boundlessly unfolding,
speak in pulses
of radiant light,
conversations that shimmer
through cosmic veils,
tangling in spectral dances.
— can you imagine?
a life where whispers float
on stardust,
where thoughts
flicker
in the nebulae-web,
crystalline, numinous,
weaving through each other,
and unweaving,
like phantoms,
ephemeral yet infinite.
here,
time hums,
a symphony of moments
that never begin
nor end
but simply
are
in a waltz of glimmering nows.
these silver beings,
so incandescent,
move in choreographed grace,
mirages of motion,
speaking in the geometry
of constellations,
their seraphic hands
sketching the arcane,
drawing spirals in the void.
— oh, to be
one of them:
untethered by the gravity
of our earthly anchor,
by pain, or neuroses,
or the dread that festers
in the fear of unbeing,
the torment of the unknown —
dancing in the celestial,
bathed in nebulous light,
a spectrum of
ethereal,
resplendent,
otherworldly
beauty.
glimmering echoes
of ancient light whisper
to each other across dimensions
like a spill of crystals
on velvet cosmos:
I am, you are —
luminous souls
composing
the score of an eternal symphony.
DIANA MARIN 