life line

thoughts open to softest downpour. everything is washed clean.

my eyes tire of these green horizons. diasporic longing for red sand and clear skies. the paradox of wanting the rare to retain it's distant shimmer.

cracks turn to gaping chasms depite shovelloads of fertile soil and conversation. that which cures can also kill. and it's still early days....

i retreat. seek self protection.
the life line lays limp in the dust