Gilded Core, Quiet River

Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we dig where we stand—heels in the soil, head in the constellations. From a quantum shiver under our feet to a secret cave in the mind, we wander through dream-workshops where ponies deflate with comic dignity and a shaggy little creature eats a balloon behind a popcorn stall.

We wonder if dreams are solitary janitors or communal rivers, if cores are gilded or just waves, and whether our inner rubber band needs a little soul-oil. It is what it is. What happens, happens. Breathe, drift off to sleep, and let the cave open like a quiet door. Sleepy, I can’t hear you—but I can feel you. Sleep Tight!

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