A man is digging up gold from the shower.
Little drops of sunshine hit the face.
More shadows fall between the shades over a hill.
Fire vanishes into the space along his walls.
The shield covers a missing touch in disappearing ink.
Something has to go into the void.
He stretches the meal out until rain comes alive.
Working in the forgotten land gives him a frozen burn.
Yellow matches the post where thoughts glow in light.
Brightness fills the air under vibrations given of change within sight.
It's the false water under view.
Dreams are entering the four chambers across from his defense.
Rays float into their suspension, their colorful obstacles.
Vision is filled with the lingering stuff.
Chunks arrive where his source exchanges the reflection.
Usually it's red thunder, often it's a chain of transportations.