Can’t see beyond ten paces...
mist lit up by noonday sun

Light refracted by a million microscopic
points,
a dulling blanket of peacefully sleeping
anxiety.

Desert clouds, like wisps of an ancient
man’s uncut hair, hanging over the
edge of far-off mountains to whisper
that not everything dies under the
noonday sun - for some things
are taken by time.

Stone doesn’t wrinkle, but sand driven
by wind will burst its fellow free,
and bit by grit the splendor
of yesterday is smoothed away.
Soft lines, vague shapes -
time and sand perform a dance upon
memory that reminds me
of the mist I see.