Salt Water

A walking body of information

roaming freely throughout the red earth.

Its stare bleak, and in it imprinted pictures of death,

which seemed to be always too close to the chest.

Late lunches and heavy silences falling straight to the ground

from the body, the way concrete would fall,

but not breakable like a stone. 

Accumulated residue from weeks and months of 

waste.

The only pulsating light is still there, little life

that blows by like wind and shakes to the wind too,

on red sands.

If someone could capture the scene in a single take,

it would seem to be eternally in motion.

And beautifully so.