what we build
with brittle sticks
and little scars
lingers
in the language
of trees
rests
among the secrets
of stones

we control nothing

stand on any shore
sights set to the horizon
searching for answers
but what we need

is not             touched by tides
is not             found in the sliding of the sun
is not             floating in the many blue notes of the sea

they remain
where they have always been
and where they always will