A downward, crooked, slanted look at perpetuity.
I’m alive in this place, enamoured and whole;
blending sands and shaking hands.
Stamped feet where the rough, pious sands deplete.

The sun is a gift that runs away through our fingers
which decorate the sky with timeless, rolling eyes.
Priests and beggars and prophets wet walls
with tongues that lap out of time.

Jump and run with the throngs in wine
and fumes of a different world that we lust for.
Pick wares like carrion and depart as the
gulls that scream to the sea, “take me with you!”

Candles cower under a cold, hard moon
when only we wane to music
that is a pulse; stubborn and true.
Roll over and taste the day through your window.