I finger the sand (dust)
it gets in the cracks of the hard dirt
packed firm by the blinding heat of the sun
the dryness helps me
it lessens the damp in my ocean heart
drown or drought
the desert shows my bones
offered up to celestiality
my cracks and holes filled with wind and particles of old
water takes all, a selfish draft
steals the air and floods the shafts of the mind
both hurt, both still
cold and lucid
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