naydshiko

How you look like sand on skin, wasted water rock, collecting sighs and dust upon the waiting years you prey stuck in another time, wishing for more space. Have your roots grown too deep, old man? Have you seen too many western sunrises, too many waterlit skies that you despise the cornrow braid plains? Did you forget the ones that bows their heads? I remember how the heat wave hits you there. Underground, underneath the hills, your brother lives. He waits with sand in his bones, when he moves he is a sieve, an hourglass man. He moves for you. He waits for you. Still you sit among evergreen stars with the sun crying into your