A parcel miraged at the outpost of thought,
It yields the phonic of the distant sought.
Like a Lilac-blue cradled in sound,
A pristine tidbit without a mound.
A partitioning without a bound,
A gentle note, unchimed, and round.
A solace in that beckoning,
As you grace it in the now.
A quiet unfurl,
Of you and the last.