The dreamer murmurs to the dusk, tracing invisible constellations on the canvas of air; each whisper a tide inching closer, meant to etch transient stories in the sands of time.
Does the wind tell you of the ships it ferried, of souls entangled in lines across paper-thin cries of horizon? Unseen vessels drifting aimlessly, sails draped in echoes that knew neither speed nor grace.