Waves on a never-ending journey crash onto the shores of your face and bounce back into the lens of a camera: momentary proof of your place. Not that it matters. It’ll go away.
Points paired in patterns next to nothing stream through the mazes that we’ve made and rearrange into facsimiles of something, their glow warm, familiar, and mundane. Not that it matters. It all goes away.
You’ve framed the light a thousand times, but have you tried to live your life?