mandala

The non-intended lessons of sunlight as they dawn into the eyes of a quiet statue within all of us–I never meant to lose your momentary palm-print, but nonetheless sun rises from behind a distant mountain in the north-eastern desert of ancient Egypt, Akhenaton, stands in the heart of cartesian-haunted-nightmarish explainable exhalations, without a cloud in the sky to witness–pillars crumble down the eyes of the beloved as we are not retrieved from the ruins of a forgotten city–but found in the arms of space, unframed by the picture within it, watching colors melt into memory, as sand blows on our faces, the door behind of which, what finger prints were intended for, O look and see the dawn – but now, again, houses, cars, a couple of children –

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