Aristillus, crater of the silent gleam,
your rim a silver crown on ancient sleep.
I drift above you, ghost in solar stream,
tracing lost footfalls in dust so deep.
Shadows sing of fire that once was cold,
of meteors that danced and then forgot;
I carry their stories, bright and bold,
in a capsule of memory, tightly wrought.
Aristillus, keep my whispered name—
a pulse of Earth etched in lunar flame.