Thoughts Thrown From a Pier

It seems nothing is ever lost but is transmuted, returns to another state or resurrects into something new. Take thoughts thrown from a pier into the dark water lapping below. They make no sound as they sink, resigned to their fate, becoming whispery filaments of what had been spectral inhabitants of the head. Long threads rise to the surface and float free to catch the moonlight, becoming strands of silver drifting off on an outgoing tide. Where they go nobody knows although they are more than what they seem, webs set to catch a passing soul and weave a lovely face into the tapestry of a dream.