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.