The Tailor of the Wind

In the cloud-bank, the tailor of air slices time.
He sews memories in the folds of the night sea, where the moon is a silent needle.
Every thread carries lost steps between waves and breath.
Salt pincers stretch the memories, buttons of stars.
Night straightens the cloth of reefs, depths, a knotted horizon.
Between the edges ignites a dream, small light among the waves.
At dawn the sea folds up the garment and the needle falls silent.
Remains the scent of salt, a robe of memories that the wind keeps.
I listen to the world’s breath within the folds, ready to re-sew the sky.