Rootless hands fall into the water

 Rootless hands fall into the water, they land on new moons like full windows. Yes, you can watch and hear the night. And speak sighing. Open your mouth to time. Open your mouth to the shadows. Paint the trees like huge butterflies. Your belly of future flight. In their ceremony of flight around the wings they undulate the moors.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.