Every grain of salt

We Bought the Flood -The Books
The triangles on the skin of my hand
match the triangles I drew in the sand
they separate and recreate
and turn into all of the thoughts that I had.
My mind’s eye dilates and I evaluate
each image as it fluctuates, dissipates,

and is gone.
along with the rust and the salt.

I’ll take a ride on some lonesome planet. and let my thoughts sail like warm winds blowing east and up and out into the darkness, and light the sky, glowing northern light, shimmering in the cold brittle air.

Focus, Focus.

image: Raj Hanchanahal Photography