The wind leans into twilight kissed sand,
swirling the fine grains of crushed pearl
into open desert air—
unsettled,
twisting into vertical tunnels,
losing itself.
A line straight through the eye of the storm
seen through half moon windows fringed in ink
as dusk descends into
half masked faces, thieves in the night,
familiar fingertips tracing
physical forms,
whispering names in surrender.
Nomadic
talons of falcons
gripping
R e l e a s i n g
golden sand at dawn.
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 