Time flew in the merest breeze,
there was barely lift for our fragile kite,
yet it carried on. It was a paper plane,
moved by the draw back
of diary scribbles,
it read of those,
and it past on.
..
.
…
On the ground
it landed, resurfaced
an unexpected desert spring
and the waters travelled. It became a
sand river in an hourglass and each
grain knew the upside, downside turns.
