Ah, Emile,
my friend of
fortune and

It was you,
you who sought
famine, instead,
in the endless
blackness, you found
a delicate flower.

Such luck you have!
Even in the depths of
your sadness grows a

But I,
I am not so lucky.

I went exploring,
I constructed &
deconstructed &
found only sand.

If we were to explore
symbolism, it may suggest
that I am an endless beach
on which others rest.


For no flowers grow in
sand. We both know that.
Water me and you get an
unpleasant consistency.

I am that which castles are made of,
and you,
you are the space which
enables them.