When skies painted waters azure - breathing,
When flowers caught lucid fire - scathing,
When my rib cage contracted - in tempo desiderata,
I knew -
There was no flash across my pupils,
A painful instance -
My cornea burnt with a finality,
The white blindness,
From looking at the midday sun
Or mountain snow, glaciers - try reading French,
A touch of the clouds, spinning me away
To where brightness amalgamates obscurity.
There was just that - salt.
Salt engraved into my skin, an alien,
And salt aging under the world from its beginning,
Leaving white shifting fingerprints
On the stones
In the air -
Trace all the crevices of a manís life -
They leave no immobile claims -
Just white specks of realization. So bitter.