Your sky is my poem

Recife suspended,
breathing in blue.

Your art ascending

an hidden tide,
a shimmer day tries
but never fully learns.

My books drifting

pages folding into birds,
carrying the quiet weight
of what must change.

It gathers

not loud,
but tidal,
our pulse
to its origin.

I remain
as the shore does
forever altered
by what I see.

My poem is your sky

above me
as I pray.