Prompt

A single, selforganizing swarm of iridescent, bioluminescent dust motes coalesces into a fleeting, threedimensional sonnet in midair above a vast, still lake of liquid mercury on a moon with no atmosphere, its surface not reflecting the sky but distorting the light of a dying star into the shape of a forgotten lullaby written in the language of gravity waves. The motes do not move randomlythey rearrange themselves with each passing second into new verses of a poem that was never composed, their glow shifting from deep indigo to pulsing rose as they spell out words that exist only in the space between breaths. The lake beneath is not stillit ripples in perfect, slow synchronization with the

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