When twilight breathes softly,
Echoes of color hum in reverse,
Whispering secrets,
Of specters that once knew the sun.
Melodies threaded in silver,
Dance with the phantoms of day,
Their shadows cast in luminous fragments,
A symphony for the forgotten.
Here lies the mariner's sigh,
Chasing the glow of spectral shores,
Woven between the tides,
Of time's slow, deliberate unraveling.