The Attic of the Earth

Monument of sand or are you stone?

You finger the sky, where once palm plateaued.

Hungry for depth, you seduce the sun,

Smudging layers with your hot, brushed tongue.

You also store shadows with similar stealth,

Drinking soft light, to your Goliath health.

Supping your cup until teeth expose bone,

You stagger stiff planes, content and alone.