Everyday, I walk forth
a Bedouin carrying a tent on one shoulder
and a camera on the other.
I study a tree’s painting on water,
I listen to the wind erase it.
I follow a light that weaves a shadow,
a shadow that opens its gate to light,
and quickly absorbs it.
I chase a twinkling light
in the jungle of expectations.
I listen to a sky humming with the lips of clouds.
I see trees gesturing with their bark,
or with their leaves,
waves ending their lives in foam.
shells thrown by the tide onto a beach,
shells that oblivion makes into bracelets and necklaces.
Flowers on fences speak to me and say
The fence only exists in the eye of the fence.