Sand dry sheets across tarmac cracks,
light fingers pinch the air,
dragging shapes and waves
around pebble-blistered concrete posts,
shifting softly, they collapse together
hushing dryly, pinched and pulled again
swirling tight static circles into slotted corners,
then crackle pulsing outwards;
the black tarmac shivers
under each grain hissing.

The sand dunes burrow nearby.
Their spines sharp green, blade into the hot
shimmering distance, snuffling out thin,
hot slices of boiling glass, flowering far off.
I push my fingers into their dusty flesh,
Feel the cool blood whisper the ages
through the tight shell of my hand.
I see the sun set quiet in the corner of the sky.

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