In the wane of twilight, memories drift like leaves
upon an undulating sea of fog and whispering dreams,
pale shadows cast by a moon that never wanes.
Do you recall the echo of that distant laughter,
a ripple in the fabric of an autumn’s breath?
Here, amidst the half-sung song of cicadas,
the stars blink out secrets only we half-know.
Behind the veil of now, paths meander
into the forgotten glades of yesteryear,
where time unravels its tight coil,
stretching the sinews of moments into
a tapestry of whispers, of sighs, of silences.