Every moment has a sound. you just have to be still enough to hear it

Listen to what is not yet written

You are hearing the weather think

The tide has no memory only rhythm

Stars are just slow music

A second never belongs to itself. it borrows from every second before it

The world is a song it forgot it was singing

Between the echoes we almost remember

We borrow time from the hour that will not return it

Nothing here persists. that is the point

These are ephemera. beloved and passing