In the beginning, nothing moves, yet everything listens —
a held breath inside the womb of dark;
silence thickens, velvet and endless,
where the unseen gathers its first intention.

Darkness is not empty here; it is fertile,
ink rich with unspoken design;
light waits within it, patient and unforced,
a pulse learning the shape of space.

Stillness becomes a loom for opposites,
shadow and shimmer passing through each other;
what retreats makes space for what approaches,
absence teaches presence how to arrive.

Light enters gently, never breaking the dark,
only revealing its hidden depth;
they circle, exchange, dissolve, return —
a slow oscillation, exact and alive.

From this rhythm, visions open their wings,
ideas warming into breath and colour;
each flicker becomes a doorway,
each pause, the gravity that lets it form.

At last, the dream steps forward, complete and quiet,
born of patience, contrast, and trust —
creation rests in the balance it came from,
forever moving between dusk and dawn, light and dark.