The dusk settles into the rocks and dust, a silhouette dragonfly feeding on sleepy-headed flies as the sky burns down. The shadows expand, swallowing everything feet first. The sun light leaves behind a moonscape in the ragged yard, dogs bounding and racing despite the lapsed atmosphere. I idle, smoke and sweat and constellations yet uncounted. I idle, hot skin and a cool breeze, the whole world on the wing.
The cigar burns slow, taking air, thieving breath. The blue-tint of smoke creeping into the maze of tree limb and faded sky. Flecks of ash dance in the air and in the dust, the breeze granting life to flame and ember. Time settles in the dirt and the breeze. Time curls away in spirals of smoke and light.
Night after night, day after day, change is the only constant. The similarity clings to the idling mind, placing sameness over these differing skins. The world known through give and resistance, through the stick and reach of the imponderable language of the atom. The world known through breadth of shimmer and the resonance of spectra. Touch and touch, shine and shine. Even the ethereal presses the flesh. Even the finite counted in legions.