In the alcove of moss-veiled echoes,
words pile into a silent sea.
Wisps of forgotten conversations
trace the line where dawn is born by a barbed horizon.
Can you see them? The spectral hands that sew palpable destinies
from gossamer twilight threads,
binding together breaths lost in
perennial sleep.
Do you dare listen?
Frayed edges of hushed reveries flutter, weaving
through the unfinished tapestries of spilled ink,
mirroring skyward fables unwritten yet remembered
in the breath of stars obscured by fading time.
The unguided sail awaits.
Each fiber resembles a whisper stifled by its own
wish to roam. Each realm untraveled throbs
at the trembling brink of inhalation.
There lie fragments, disjunct and radiant
among light-of-heather dreams, mending
tales that the night forgot to unravel.
Follow the dusk trail home.
Remember to chase the weathers of wispy time,
the fleeting gales carrying tinctures of hope.
Enigmas threaded in deep-sea meridian hues.
Nothing but whispers dwell,
till they become you.