Work Text:
The breeze rakes its arid fingers
through an already tousled shock of bronze hair,
easing out remnants of the desert
and smokey ashes that have made it their home.
Callused hands swim slowly beneath a billowing cloak,
emerging with their treasure; a delicate curve of etched gold.
Fingers trace and tease at the strings, absentminded,
ghosting over until they fall into a familiar rhythm
They continue, coaxing out each rich, syrupy note.
Carefully, carefully, it must not be disturbed.
The power sleeping just beneath the melody,
stirring as fluid song blooms into fire.
It drifts and eddies, reaches out and is pushed back in swirls,
encasing its maker in a net of temporary bliss
Until the hands stop.
Settling with the sands around them.