The moon leans low,
whispering silvered
secrets to the stars.
They circle close,
a quiet congress of light,
sifting through
the hush of night.
Thoughts pass
in glints and flickers.
A soft breath
over sleeping hills.
Each star,
a shimmering code.
’til slowly,
darkness begins to pale.
And the meeting dissolves
at the gentle insistence
of dawn.
By Sarah © 2025
Sammi Scribbles, Weekend Writing Prompt: conference (59 words*)
*including title
By Sarah 