The shore inhales, the water sighs —
a silver breath beneath the skies.
No note, and yet the quiet sings
of tethered moon and loosened wings.
Between the wave and what it means,
a stillness holds the tender scenes:
a shell, a stone, a thread of light,
the day unlacing into night.
I learn to wait where ripples start —
that small soft circle in the heart.
In resting there, I come to know
how things are played in undertow.