In the womb of silence
all sound returns to seed.
Whispers of futures unborn
rest in the dark,
waiting for breath.

Here, time dissolves.
No clock, no measure,
only pulse,
only presence,
only the turning of invisible tides.

From this stillness,
creation stirs—
a spark,
a word,
a world unfolding.

And I,
a vessel of both hush and fire,
carry the silence as medicine,
carry the spark as gift.