*
Walking slowly through and into sand,
nothing but sand that whips the face
and draws lines on the eyeballs, permanent
arabesques of sadness, sir,
holy sir, my melancholy sir,
where do you think you go? Away from "here"?
Do you think you've escaped this world, this "here"?
The sand lacks all nutrition, scorpions
are sculpted out of air and their despair
is indigestible -- even the birds
avoid all flights that happen to cross near
this destitution. Only God
cares to be present here -- yet where you meet
God, the earth lies trembling at your feet.
*
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