Confessions in the Desert

The desert gathers confessions like sand within the hands.
In the forgotten socks of clouds, a never-born rain remains trailing.
Every thread reveals a slipped truth, every seam is an unsaid word.
The wind records them, aligning them on the dunes like fragments of memory.
Confessions dry in the sun and become grains of memory.
The clouds, emptied, withdraw their socks but leave the scent of lost promises.
The desert keeps them safe, archiving what is silent between stones and wind.
And the night, with a sigh, returns to the sky what remains in the desert’s pocket.