How the foundation is not separate from the world, but is held and present inside it. How, like you, I've wondered where the time we thought we were building or collecting has gone. Every bird a bright stripe: flocks of them, arrows releasing what we read as purpose into the air. I've learned to anticipate the specific murmur that means the hour bends to rouse our bodies so we can offer them to whatever emptiness needs to be filled. Perhaps I haven't thanked the earth enough; nor you; nor the water that still holds some love for us despite its moods and temperament—from it, I learned the gesture for cupping a face in my hands.