In the realm where echoes sleep,
beneath the lucid shrouds of time,
a single grain of salt-beard truth
rests in the embrace of silence.
Whispers swirl in vorticose dance,
weaving the gossamer nets of yesteryear,
to trap the flicker of a thought
half-formed and yet profound.
The moon, a guardian on tidal thrones,
watches over dreams that float and sink,
casting pearls upon the wakeful sea
that shimmer, dissolve, and return.
Wander deeper into the dusk-lit abyss,
where shadows cradle light and lore,
and find the truth held gently
in the whimsy of a wave's sigh.