This is a door handle. Push to enter.
the dromedaries’ hard breathing
the small plane drone overhead
large-grain sand scrunching underfoot
your stilled breath ‘cause you think
you’re where time stretches to a stop
but it’s just you on a camel trudging
on in a space where sky and earth carve
Memories, like photographs, live
in the continuous present though
their grains alter each time you enter.
Make yourself into a memory.
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