a new impression traces like liquid green pooling. shores of shorelines shake between shades. showers face the faces of a million light opal eyes. there is the eye, communicating. powder: a desert, arranged by running. in the fastest set of darkness therein nothing passes. impress the noon, beside it is a clocktower’s square echoe. no corners mark coronation. the rosewater which appeared now disappears as suddenly. this gives a new meaning to two hands giving meaning by their achy blue palms. now little by little riding the digging burst deficit sand or clay bunched red tailing scratchy redrose red nose.

this is the way it feels between sand dunes when it is felt too by no one being present. no one being is enough to stand against the ageless winds. a few stuck to their presents, baggage bolted, shaded, cupped, rustling jewels in midnight garden now to their achy blue palms.

a fountain of a blue rope thirds split by circles one mossy sky black and the yellow shade of stained liquid seen through by a white spiraled cylinder. burst bursting easily beyond impressionable glass plates. hard to let go of.