Truth. I've held it now and then; fragile,
easily warped or lost, shattered to brittle
fragments and scattered. My hands
empty once again, only skin left to touch
with skin, to remind myself of reality; sharpened
clarity can catch a moment; affirmation of
existence, breath sweeping in, enlarging;
leaving in a swoop, always returning.

Even in this bloated city, dirt and
colours harsh to the point of cruelty,
I conjure up the beach embodying purity;
ocean hushing the sky, now muted and sinking,
air peaked with a touch of coldness
to keep me from flying too far to the distance.
A wish lulled by the water, longing no longer.
Standstill, sand, no desire, truth in hand,
I aim my voice to the horizon.

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