Light shines
through tearstained
gaps between
your fingers.
You’ve once risen,
just to play
like a child,
this time in ashes.
In them,
you can recount
what you lost,
when the sands
are too infinite.
Without them,
you are the dust,
a single flake
descended from
a ravaged Heaven.
You’ve cut ties
with the shifts,
to forge the rifts,
outside the purity
in life’s unpredictability.
You’ve folded
your form,
from front to back,
injecting scarlet secrets
in soiled pages.
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