The Grid

Hazy air lingers above the dust in a barren desert
little fragments billowing in the wind.
Cover your mouth from the dirt and grit
dry fingers cracking in the southern heat.
The cloud passes exposing oracles of glass
floating weightless in the air.
The composition of something alien lingers here.
Every element needed is contained in an unnatural sphere
a web of translucent connections

slung across the ground.

Cold to the touch despite the midday sun.
Pulsing an unknown sound that travels through the air,
creating another sense..no man-made logic to be found here.
Unnatural.
Foreign.
Abstract movements ripple the surface of time
observed by a pair of white eyes, azurid opal in the empty landscape.
The beginning.

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