The storm did not ask if the harbor would hold,
It shattered the lanterns and silvered the cold.
The tide never wept for the shells pulled below,
Yet taught every shoreline the shape of its flow.

A song crossed the water, then frayed in the rain,
Its echoes still circling the cliffs and the main.
Some notes are born fading the moment they rise,
Yet linger like starlight in storm-darkened skies.

The moon pulled the oceans through sorrow and sleep,
While forests stood listening to what silence keeps.
And thunder moved onward, untethered, untamed,
But mountains remembered where lightning once came.

Let every cycle resolve as it must,
like night unfolding morning, like loss becoming trust.
For even brief music leaves tremors in stone,
And no heart once truly stirred returns unchanged to home.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Glacian, in the year 1003 AF.