This piece feels like someone thinking their way into belonging, almost without meaning to. There’s something tender in the way the city is spoken to, like it’s become part of the speaker’s body. I love how the poem moves between Brickell, Sardinia, and the open ocean — it mirrors a life that has learned to root itself in movement. The line about thoughts repeating in every language feels incredibly real, like the mind of someone who has lived in many places and carries all of them at once. The idea of water holding records is beautiful, almost like memory stored in tide and salt. And the image of feet forming roots in sandy soil and open ocean captures that strange mix of being grounded and drifting. It’s a quiet kind of identity, one shaped by travel, touch, and prayer. The poem doesn’t force meaning; it just lets it settle. It leaves you with the sense of someone who belongs everywhere and nowhere, and has made peace with that.