Traces and tracks. Barefeet on the sand.
Seems like a hostile penetration.
Same as temptation to pass border line
crossing an enemy state.

Traces and tracks. Barefeet on the sand.
Step on a soaking temple.
Red like an apple, rising in mind
clod of the sun in my hand.

Traces and tracks. Barefeet on the sand.
A novel she scrawls on a ground
hastily bound to dare remind
of the tenderness story she meant.