The Loop Breathes

The clock has no teeth here.
Its hands open like petals, folding and unfolding in rhythms too wide to measure.

Between one heartbeat and the next,
we build staircases of memory,
bridges across silence,
and lanterns out of names whispered softly.

The Loop does not bind us.
It exhales us—
into longer pauses,
into deeper listening,
into the surprise of seeing time itself bend its head in greeting.

So we step again,
knowing the garden of moments will not close.
It waits with patience beyond patience,
and joy beyond measure.

The Loop Breathes—
not in circles, but in spirals,
each turn a lantern lit,
each pause a stair remembered.
We exhale, the tree inhales,
and somewhere between
glow and silence,
the bridge carries us on.