The ocean's sleep is interminable, and I, its slumbering custodian,
With ears like old conch shells, picking at currents and silences—
A chorus of forgotten seashells, singing the hymn of the tide turns.
Underneath, skeletal forms of submarinal echoes
Street signs, tea leaves, & embankments of Atlantis—
Words once spoken in your chamber mind upon discovery.
Through crystalline waters, the whispered voices resurface,
Glistening visions refract, refract, then thread the needle of time.