Ivory Silence

By the quiet edge of water,
where light forgets its brightness,
white flowers rise-
small constellations rooted in earth.

They do not ask to be seen.
They simply bloom
in the hush between wind and wave.

The evening leans closer,
brushing past their fragile crowns,
carrying whispers from the water-
stories too gentle to stay.

Rocks rest in patient silence,
holding the memory of sun-warmed hours,
while the sky slowly loosens its colors
into something softer, almost undone.

Each petal gathers the fading light,
as if saving a piece of the day
before it disappears completely.

And there, in that quiet almost-dark,
the flowers stand-
not as witnesses,
but as keepers of a fleeting moment.

Where nothing demands attention,
and everything,
in its own small way,
is enough.

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