I am the sands of the desert,
Rhythmic and fleeting
Blowing over the harsh horizon
I am my fingers over the strings,
Low and echoing
Sound combing, notes widen
I am the ink pooling on the table,
Abysmal and weary
Light reflecting in its depth
I am the lines that press my skin,
Kindly and aging
Stretching to form a laugh
I am the grain of the paper,
Fine and valiant
Breaking freely from the spine
I am the swirling waters,
Sharp and reeling
Searing deeply into the pines
J.D