Bekin

a light upon a lonly earth, wandering shadowless sage. fled from the river - no dark waters will carry it away. no footprints fall behind it in the ash, no bones click against one another. crow-pecked eyes the same color as the space between stars, as the gash in the sky, as the shadow behind old wooden doors. the light on the lonely black-glass Dones, old as ash and sun and heat. wander wander, lost king of summer




A lost traveler on vast glassy Dunes. He - or they, depending on where the sun is in the sky and the number of leaves that swirl about him, are accomponied by only one. A flash of golden-white feathers indicates the other's presence. Neither leave footprints. No shadows are cast in the vast red desert, no sound drifts into the ocher skies. The world has been flipped on its head, and Bekin does not mind. They have always wandered the desert. The sky splitting is not new when you are as old as the world. There are no surprises left.