and you knew that the blue that was behind the clouds would not come bac,, that all the little cotton buds that were getting close to one another with some sort of joy would make you shiver, and then would drench you, but you would keep on being in awe.
like the ropes
that wear out without breaking
time follows its course
*posted in June 2021, edited in June 2022
Of course, there would be traces of passers lost on the dunes, one we cannot always be with on their own but they would have come, and would have gone and now I would be alone with the sky and promises of thunderstorms in the cold sand of May.
Focusing on the clouds,
too tired to measure up
against the world
then what the hell would Jung say
seeing our nauseating debacles