Fabric of the Void

Beneath the hush of midnight,

the cat rests on the edge of nothing—

a silhouette carved from absence,

fur stitched with shadows of nebulae.

One eye is sapphire, holding oceans unborn,

the other, amber—

a furnace where suns are kindled and die.

Together, they balance the wheel of becoming.

Her breath is a tide

that rises and falls through aeons.

With each purr,

the lattice of reality trembles,

threads of silence woven tighter.

When she moves,

she does not step—

she bends the fabric of the void,

her paws pressing gently into the skin of infinity.

Stars flock to her shoulders,

planets hum around her tail,

and comets break themselves to dust

just to graze her whiskers.

The secret she keeps

is not in words,

but in the pause between her blinks—

a pause that could stop wars,

or birth new worlds.

The two eyes close,

and for a moment the universe forgets itself,

then opens again,

softly,

as if waking from a dream.