Run

Run in the sand
and bake in its mass

make waves with our hands
and quake with the unknown
crisp our hair
with the salt and hot heat
that comes in a sideways rhythm
we can only gawp at
compress these sodden grains
like play-dough
until they squeak
this is us on the edge of
everything
shadows scurry on stunted legs
away from that smiling source
we worship
eyes on stilts and stumbling
laterally

Run in the sand
and bake in its mass