Air.

What stays the softly swindeling glow of the moon

When the palms gently shake in the balmy air.

When the tide rolling the rocks

                                                rumbling and

tumbling

down

into silt

Whispers to you.

And utters enigmas

When birds in trees flutter fluently throughout the air

And the fire shimmers up into the atmosphere making dots in a cosmic canvas

You call out.

And the birds are still.

And you are answered by the trees

“Yes” the earth shakes

And the moon is still.