The Fossil of Him

he was raised by silhouettes

in the desert, watched them

stay dry by bending raindrops,

so he set his feet upon the void

within spectrums of sight,

that hollow place where light turns back,

and fell into canyons of empty air

and quicksand oxygen.

as he waited for gravity

to prove its worth, he thought

he could learn to live in caves

and set a fire after impact.

but clay can't raise a flame, so

he hopes he can wait for

texture to erode into glass,

then someone can dig deep enough

to sift the oil that splattered

from his veins onto the shards.

maybe refinement will cause

the fallen to rise in the embers

floating from the elements.

he doesn't know, they fight wars

to win the dead and the victor

is never the owner of gentle hands.