Tidepool Hallucinations

Embers of footfalls lose themselves between fragments of refracted luminosity. Rippling skies of yesterday's courage, redeemed in half-dreamt whisperings.

The clock hesitated, tugging uncertain shoelaces— as if seizing rediscovered youth. Each tick, encasing illegible etchings in briny folklore immutable as stone.

The echo of cephalopod dreams floated, susurrating in secluded alcoves. Coils of uncertainty caressing salted remnants of laughter in sun-tinged lenses. What if the message floats life rafts stranded on saturated shores?

Seldom do the wanderers return. Heels drumming on the canvas of alien tongues, learning the gramophone's forgotten call—before the tide unwinds its coiling denouement.

The sea speaks in riddles, asking why hunger trails hark whispered games consigned to postcard poets: waves once remembered.

A seagull tomorrow whispers an unmeasured sunbeam in your name. Can thoughts breathe in circles?