While the sun in its daily pilgrimage reminds the mortal of mortality, she does subtraction, linear
differences in distance, age and burdensome inhibitions. The water’s song on the shore telling —
no, singing — another story, don’t leave, keep returning to the ocean’s salted lips of that first
The horizon devouring every ray of light, turning sky to a dark curtain, the waves summoning
touch, making little flashes of desire in the mind, don’t leave. North of the equator, thirst
transforms exponentially to dream, our feet slowly moving on the sand, a small fortune of time.