Red rock, bed widow, lying flat upon the withered claws of yesterday's conversations. Simple and kind she rests into the dune, crunching on words and collecting love. Deep into the sleepy mirage, images pass through the bottleneck and untwist the knot of ancient fluff. She lays there stoned and willing. The ascension into the melt, the faceless body of water. Again and again death of the door. The blinded captain on the anchored ship. We call out in many ways even through fear, through whales. Touch it, floating crust, all we want is to know the wind and be more like a loyal cliff. Magic everywhere.