Constellations rearranged themselves
as if shuffling chapters
Stars dotted sentences
across the velvet dark
I tilted my head;
the sky tilted back
We negotiated meaning
in shared silence
A comet underlined a passage
Nebulae inked metaphors in slow color
I felt the narrative widen
making room for my breath
By dawn
the universe had written a story
in which I was not the hero—
but the co-author