Holding Pattern

We stood at the edge of the quiet,

where the air forgot how to move.

The tide kept practising our names,

as if repetition might make us real.

The moon was learning how to be whole again,

rehearsing fullness in borrowed light.

Our shadows touched before we did,

thin and uncertain on the wet sand.

I said nothing, because nothing felt accurate.

Silence arranged itself around our breathing.

Even the wind learned to speak in pauses.

Time loosened its grip on the moment,

and let it blur at the edges.

We became a shape the night could hold.

Did I leave the air con on all day?

We became a shape the night could hold.

and let it blur at the edges.

Time loosened its grip on the moment,

Even the wind learned to speak in pauses.

Silence arranged itself around our breathing.

I said nothing, because nothing felt accurate.

thin and uncertain on the wet sand.

Our shadows touched before we did,

rehearsing fullness in borrowed light.

The moon was learning how to be whole again,

as if repetition might make us real.

The tide kept practising our names,

where the air forgot how to move.

We stood at the edge of the quiet.