Stop! Freeze! Frame it, capture it on film – film stinking of long conveyor belts, skyscrapers, movie screens, abandoned mines.
For one thirsty moment it will live longer. Soon it will grow dark – a huge unattainable skeleton covered with sand, rinsed with rain, will rise – a mixture of salt and freshwater. Firs will kneel a moment, the night's demigods bend over it. Its heart will learn forms and grow ripe – concerned with the solstice over its own dying head. And still it will attempt to keep watch.
ALL THAT OUT OF LONGING JOURNEY ALONG THE EDGE OF THE SAND