A silver path, half-lit, half-lost,

Winds through dreams and tangled frost.

The world asleep, but shadows wake—

Whispers stir the mirrored lake.

The Moon looks down with veiled eyes,

Hiding truth in starless skies.

A wolf howls low, a dog replies,

Each tethered to their own disguise.

The lobster climbs from depths below,

Drawn to secrets it can’t know.

Its claws reflect the past, undone,

Yet still it crawls toward rising sun.

Illusion wraps the night in silk,

Truth floats faint, like spilled-out milk.

Trust your gut, not what you see—

The Moon reveals what _could_ yet be.