In Liminal Space

Time is a stone in the shallows,
worn by waves unexpected.
We think we are still,
but the tide whispers:
you are moving, even now.

The dunes breathe beneath the sun,
grains sliding like quiet hours.
We wait for the sky to change,
but it is the waiting
that changes us.

Life slows in the liminal light,
gray stretching thin between now
and the what-if-soon.
We hold our breath,
but the earth keeps exhaling.

Rocks crumble, sand scatters,
nothing breaks all at once.
Even we,
shift unnoticed,
until the wind catches
on the edge of who we’ve become.

And when the change comes,
we will not see it arrive,
only the footprints left behind,
leading us
to somewhere new.