Constant Sun.

Lover of my soul.
Peeler of my layers.
Detangler of my depth, my unknown wells.
Stroke my head, brush aside any rusty strands.
Nourish my innermost being on Sunset.
In my dark tower.

Guide me in response to your love.
To your quiet pursuit.
Tend to the messes that are crumbly and dry.
Whisk the substance of my heart into more good, more overflow rising from within.
Surely you have your best written down.
Can I copy it word for word?

Tell me the secrets of the darkness,
Tell me why the temperature rises and drops leaving me without words on Sahara.

Even there your pursuit hems me in.
You gather my distant hope like crusts —
My mirage is your 3D.

You carry my weight, leaving me hanging.
So constantly.

How do I make sense of weightlessness?

Your nearness is my good.
Do what you will.

And I will sing. I will voice my weightless cry for depth in the desert.
You know my dance in the sand on Sundays.
Constant Sun.

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