Time That Asks For Apology

At the boundary of mist and sea, an hourglass hangs suspended,
time’s beating heart is a glass drum, slow and precise,
the sand falls down like a memory wanting to speak to us,
and the air holds its breath, awaiting some sign.
Time learns how to apologize without voice or hue,
between the salt-kissed gleam and the whispering tide,
a fragile word is born that rests upon the edge of day,
and the hourglass sways, between promise and regret.
When the mist relents, the sea answers with a gentle swell,
silence turns to hearing, and the apology takes form,
not as an ending, but a start held still and deep,
and the hourglass’s beat, now, is more human than before.