even though this nothingness is filled with everything.
I can’t touch the sand of the road
the dirt of the road
the handle of the wheel you drive

we are driving towards a sandstorm
I remember I was picking flowers when we left. Placed them on the kitchen table
on an almost see through glass vase with rounds around it
I remember I was thinking what a waste

It’s not hot, it’s not cold, there is nothing really growing now, nothing living, nothing really dead.

Snow covers shadows.
Sand covers all the colors.