The tide slips silver, low,
A breath the moon cradles, lets go.
Each wave, a hymn unbidden—
It rises, then forgets, like *hidden*.

The moon leans close, a shadowed guest,
And stitches calm onto the restless.
The shore holds its tongue, though waves compose
A language only dusk could choose.

Here, time unravels in soft threads,
Where sand forgets where footprints fled—
A drift of foam, a hush between,
The pulse of day, the dusk, the deep.

So let the world’s loud tides ignore you,
Let stars drink deep what worlds adore you—
Carry the tide, lean into the hush:
The quiet dark, where no tempest crush.