Window

Ms. Haiku

I walk the circumference slowly touching the walls with flat hands. I walk this circle to hear the sand underneath my soles and scratching against my palms. I touch sand with my tongue and inhale clarity. A chill turns to heat at the last curve angled towards the sun. The heat coveted by the sand feels older than me, yet alive with journeys. The sand leaves images on my neck, the sighs of the building as it settled with the earth. Those voracious tremors filled with sand and became silent. The sand lures me with layers of knowledge not recorded in books. A hole forms to the time of my buried limit. I take my coat off willing to be burned, only.