4. AND

A book of days
and a verse made of nocturnal syllables

The sweet fragance of flowers at night
and the tiny, even sweeter trace of a recalled moment

The taste of salt from yesterday's twilight
and the kamikaze dive of seagulls

The somberness of some thoughts
and the tides that wash them down

The newly-found harmonies
and the screaming dissonances

A shiny shell found in the sands
and the echo of a silvery voice

The stony vessel that takes me into the night
and its austral, yet believable moon.

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