First log

The watcher has been posted on the high dune for three seasons now,
where the two suns never quite set at the same time,
and the sand holds its heat long after dusk.

The sand dwellers don't come near by day.
They wait until the second shadow catches up with the first,
then move as if the desert itself had made them.

Second log

A freighter passed low last night, running dark,
bound for the rim stations, where no one asks
where the cargo came from, or who it used to belong to.

The old-timers at the post say
that before the moisture farms, there was something else here:
carved stone, a temple, a well too straight to be natural.

Third log

A scout droid turned up alone, no owner,
its memory wiped and a scorch mark along one side.
No one at the post wanted to keep it.

If you ever cross this edge of the known map,
travel by night, between the shadows of the two suns,
and may the force that binds all things go with you.

End of transmission

— logged by an unnamed watcher,
on a world of two suns,
far from here.