Details rarely get stored in memories,

They rather emerge from elusive folds,

From impromptu reconciliations,

The slits of which are misleading. Eye, sign our numbness.

You lean towards the sea,

The seas cross each other,

The moon raises the water to the waterline,

The wind has a roundness of a heart

In its wake lie the lost ones.

Without our consistency how would we see the sand settle?

Here

Objects lose all weight once they leave your hands.