Project Attempts

I.
You step carefully,
        to keep the hollows
        domed out in the sand,
     on lava bubbles
and paleolithic fish.
They sharpen to red
        when you step over them,
and dull to orange
when they remember
they are sand
and they are orange
        in the sun.
I don't know you.
  But I peek  out from the sage
        and catch the rocks
        blushing
  because they thought
        your shadow
     was an invitation to familiarity.

II.
You step carefully,
        to keep the air
        pressing into the sand,
     on lava bubbles
and paleolithic fish.
They sharpen in the momentary heat
     when you step over them,
and dull again
when they remember
they are sand
and they are warm enough
        in the sun.
I don't know you.
But I peek out from the sage
        and catch the rocks
        steaming with all composure aside
     because they thought
your displacement of the sky
     was an invitation to familiarity.

III.
You hush the sand with the soles
        of  your feet, carefully,
        to keep the air
        whispering in the sand,
     on lava bubbles
and paleolithic fish.
They sharpen in the momentary crescendo
     when you hush over them,
and in diminuendo
     remember
they are sand
and they mumble
        in the sun.
I don't know you.
However, I understand from the sage
        the rocks roll
        in cacophony
     because they thought
your truncated sky
     was an invitation to familiarity. 

IV.

You deepen the sand with the soles
        of your feet, carefully,
        to keep the air
        clear in the sand,
     on lava bubbles
and paleolithic fish.
They brighten to scarlet
     when you darken them,
and mix with the light
when they remember
they are sand
and they gray
        in the sun.
I don't know you.
But I glimpse around the sage
        and see the rocks
        blushing
because they thought
     your shadow
was an invitation to familiarity. 

V.
You lick at the ground with the soles,
        of your feet, carefully,
        to keep the air
        breathing into the sand,
     on lava bubbles
and paleolithic fish.
They burn with spice
     when you linger over them,
and pacify to milky white
when they remember
they are sand
and they are bland
        in the sun.
I don't know you.
But I savor the sage
        and the rocks
        spill together
because they thought
     your salting of the sky
was an invitation to familiarity.

Working on my project... and it's sort of kinda working out.  Better than before, at least!