Sky’s Script

Something in us breathes only when
we move away,
like a music we can feel or float
on the onyx of deep sleep or like the
mapping of sand bodies on the paper,
something that can read the
ancient shoreline.

Despite all our chores,
not even a nameable line
exists in our memory
can read water in water,
only the moonlight understands
the sky’s script and feels the pure
joy for every vanished land.