Invisible images hide the ridges, a paradise left. Walking through the sand backwards it was the last day, before the first, in two places for different eyes. You can go anywhere and do anything, be anybody. It was easy to pick a kite, because I too have been let go, with only a faint curiosity toward the direction I’d be flying in. We can’t decide for them, or wish them to be something they are not; one track, its only one. The struggles indifference is a mighty burden to wear. I see the faint haze on the faces I barely watch each day. A real altruist doesn’t think about it. Their gold is free from theft, and a thief can only pretend. We all might be hiding.