One with the dusty world

I wonder sometimes, was everything meant to be? ... I mean living, really living. Was it because the earth was moving toward something almost taoist in circumference?

Walk the desert, without a net. Cast aside doubts and aim for the horizon, where the thicket lays so shallow on the coast and the smoke streams up in trickles.

Days are empty
bottomless, the origin of all things;

They blunt my path, become One with the dusty world.