First, the tide rolls in,
unseen messages shaped by moonlight.
Each wave a rhythmic pulse,
each pulse a breathing presence.

Then, silence—
the echoing hollow of a whispered dream.
Layers of sand and time,
seeping through like forgotten suns.

Last, a seashell's truth,
capturing fragments of distant songs,
reverberating stories of what was,
what could be—never spoken, yet known.