Came to me in tides.
Water and dirt.
A rush of noise then silence.
Sound and wait.
Standing too close.
It ebbs and it flows.
Silence is song. And water is prose.
The sand empties and fills like a lung. Like the land is sighing. Like the land is waiting.
Instead of jewels, I have stones. Instead of youth, I have time. Instead of soldiers, I have seashells.
I came for an answer. Not to shout or to throw myself into the water and say that I am done with trust.
Instead of noise, I have truth.