The sea loosens its grip
and the shore opens wide,
a sheet of silver, breathing.

Clouds gather and drift apart,
blue rinsed thin with light,
weather learning how to wait.

They cut across the quiet,
dark commas in a long sentence of water,
their reflections briefly believing themselves.

Waves arrive with soft decisions,
curl, undo, retreat—
nothing held, nothing chased.

The horizon keeps its distance,
patient as a held note,
patient as the sky.

Everything here is moving
without needing to arrive,
and the day lets it be enough.