What dwells beneath the weeping waves,
It shimmers, it sighs, a ghost from sepia time,
Fleet-footed and free, it eludes the grasping hands,
What am I,
if not a memory lost to the caress of tides?
Strings of coral weave tales as resonance emerges.
Echoes of laughter twirl like decaying pastries,
Think of the barnacle's paradox:
To cling is to go forever unanchored.
Perchance the deepest truths lie with creatures slim,
Haunting in moments
Where witnesses become shadows,
Ever ebbing,
Fluid points lost at sea.
Find your way through the wreckage of light; sink not, but float gently.
Over the horizon mask of rolled Neptune,
Dare to whisper the essence of a crumpled letter,
Within lie pieces of there and now,
at once intertwined in a tangle.