The Feather and the Moon
He walks where silence becomes language,where thought takes form before breath knows its shape.Ink gathers at his fingertipslike stars waiting to be named.
Thoth, keeper of the measured moment,you weigh the unseen against the heart’s hidden tremor.In your gaze, chaos slows—becoming rhythm, becoming law.
The moon bends low to hear you write,silver light spilling across papyrus dreams.Every…