Minute looking out the window

 Minute looking out the window. Of cloth one day. Giving up until it cracks. It is perhaps I see. It is perhaps that. Joy. And the beauty? Air. Tomorrow, dune. Or patio. When unbearable travels. Drop sand. I loose space. The wells are lowered into the bowels. Thirsty dunes. They loom over the watery reflection of the Moon. They find stones at the bottom.

Sense, then ex-isto as hypo/thesis.