We drift through time
As grains of sand
Jostled by ripples
Upon dunes unseen
As grains of sand
Jostled by ripples
Upon dunes unseen
It’s not because I’ve been put there.
Outside is a place I have chosen.
And yet, I peer inside,
Longing to be in there.
A trickle of water
Becomes a rivulet
Becomes a stream
Becomes a river
All the while eating the rock
Over which it travels
Cutting a cleft
A channel
A chasm
A canyon
Framing the picture is easy, but the figure… the figure lacks form. A couple of poses make no improvement, until I hold my left arm out and the camera strap falls from my shoulder.