In the hour when dreams pour through the cracks of sleeping stars,
the waves murmur secrets only the moon understands.
Listen—listen to the scripted tides, for they whisper ancient names
of places forgotten by the sun's golden embrace.
Carved by the ancients.
A dance of colors.
Between grains and galaxies.
Twinkling below the twilight canopy,
the echoes laugh in the light of fading day
shaping the dreams of those who wander
under the celestial whispers.