Inter

Inter

In the quiet hush of morning light,
thoughts interlace like river streams—
each ripple a whisper, each eddy a sigh,
weaving patterns that no eye can see.

Hands reach across the crowded square,
fingers brushing, palms meeting,
a fleeting touch that sparks a chorus,
the hum of lives interlaced in soft accord.

Words tumble, half‑formed, then find their place,
interlacing vowels and consonants,
forming sentences that breathe, that pause,
like leaves that stir before they fall.

Hearts beat in rhythm, a steady drum,
inter‑pulsing through the veins of night,
each throb a promise, each pause a breath,
the world turning on the axis of together.

Here, in the space between the seen and unseen,
where borders blur and horizons merge,
lies the quiet magic of the inter—
the invisible thread that binds us all.