Steve Bucknell's photos with the keyword: 64

Under the Sign of the Hourglass glass tied so tight presses in on us squeezes the flow so all that blown glass curved air quick sand silver holes in water must sink through us from skull to heel in drifts of used stuff trees sky minutes hours days shed skin we are dust motes the light the needle the eye the lens ash cloud dust all our particular comminuted days fine and and infinite grains sift away between chair and bed self and others being and nothingness until you find the glass and turn it again S.Bucknell. 22.11.55 - 22.11. 19.