A scroll ensnares the twilight whispers.
Flickering scenes from dreams undreamed,
Icons of silence dance on the edge of the void.
"More coffee," she motions, but the glass is empty.
An invisible audience sighs softly as the reel unwinds.
The curtain rises—phantoms in bowler hats prance.
Lights dim, secrets revealed in pantomime.

The cello's muted wail echoes through the paper moon.
A typewriter clatters its sleep, words fall like autumn leaves.
"In the end, who cared?" a question scribbled on a fogged pane.
The moon withholds its answer, a guardian of night's tapestry.