under the quiet arc of a waiting sky a new moon rises, pushing the changing tide, unseen.
falcon glides the breath of the world that flows like tide through valleys to break on forest hills, sways saplings like kelp in the surging air, brings ocean salt and cetaceous dreams to the quiet dappling light deep under waves of green.
there was a time we knew these things, knew when scrape of sand and pull of wave would meet the wind to fill the sail and breach the tide to taste the salt that spoke a hundred tongues. knew the names of the wind by the way it sang our skin. our bodies have…