A man once pondered, dream in hand,

How he might cross that spectral band,

To vault beyond his outline’s trace,

And claim a feat none could erase.

 

He tried at dawn and chased at noon,

Yet found his mark had slipped too soon;

For every leap left only doubt—

His outline lingered all about.

 

Until one night, a figure stood,

In quiet dusk, beneath a hood.

A practised eye, a clever grin,

Held secrets that few dared to win.

 

“To break the rule, you must stand still,

Then let your mind unleash your will.

Set torches near, but place them right—

And you shall leap beyond your sight.”

 

With care, he placed the flames just so,

Each flicker casting warmth below.

The watchers stilled, their breath caught tight;

They sensed an unexpected sight.

 

He paused, then leapt—a breath held tight—

And found himself beyond the night.

The crowd gasped loud, their eyes awake;

For he had done what none could fake.

 

There, poised beyond where dark had clung,

He’d crossed that line, both bold and young.

A trick? Perhaps—but none would say,

For he had bested night with day.