While phantoms waltz in the violet ether, singing celestial distillations,
the lunar arbor bends and cascades with the whispers of murmurous stars.
In these ornate corridors of light that tapestry the vagueness of dust,
I succumb to unvoiced elegies that gather in seamless constellations.
Rest, bright fragments, brimming with the whispering dusk!
Oh, grandiose echoes carved by the breath of nebulas and drifting,
linked by clandestine ribbons to paths of spectral nós, a gift unfelt.