The day began as a mirage.
Dressed in the garb of a wise king,
I stumble into the desert searching for stories
in the sand.
I find no realism in the sun.
cannot be blamed on transitory light. It is my eyes
which censor the spectrum of time.
With a dangerous emptiness, the wind
bellows and encompasses the earth. sagging dunes
translate moments. They know time well.
Tonight it's drafty and dark.
While sweeping up our my, I wonder
if the wind celebrates itself
or if the sky and the oceans
honor it and how.
“Tell me I am like the sand. Tell me
I am a ruptured star – the grit
of an ancient supernova,
Tell me when I settle
the wind will swipe me up and
This makes no sense
but yet it does.
It's all so real from the real perspective.