As the stars whispered lullabies to the azure shore, Beneath, a conch shell turned sentinel.

With a breath as light as thought, it declared, "The moon is a puddle we have all yet to jump over,"

and the waves rippled in echo, dancing to a gravity lost in its own vertigo.

Perchance, there are echoes of words once muted—

shatter the horizon with glances through sea-glass eyes that perceive the unseen sands.