Satellites hover.Algorithms adjust.Words arrive already shaped:terms for love, for loss, for progressready to be repeated,ready to sound like our own.The tide moves through.I watch it scrollthrough wrists, through calendars, through the habitof checking once more before sleep. First breath.First cry.First login.In fluorescent rooms, language thins.Messages blinking everywhere.Names chosen in advance.A life entered into the networkbefore it learns the weight of its own hands.Elsewhere, a body…