My hand runs along the ground, dirt under my fingerpads. Long hair catches the wind, and I turn away for a moment as my fingers make contact. White flashes underneath, catches my eye.

Catching my eye, my fingers dust away the layer of dirt over the veins beneath me. I knew they were there, but never looked and saw. I knew they were there, pulsing white, pulsing white. I knew they were there, pulsing white.

Dust me away from the chaff. I find the white and my fingers make contact. Body locks in place, eyes wide, eyes white, pulsing white. Solid white, lips white, skin white, lungs locked, white. Without breath, the frame dies my mind flashes. I urge my fingers away. I pry my fingers away. I pray my fingers away. My hand pulls free, shaken and inspired.

To tap into the limitless, there is a need for capacity.

Let me gauge up. Let me become a conduit, a vessel, worthy of the work.

Let me run my fingers along the dirt, and breathe in white.