hear the whisper,
the rumbling river of light

through the arms of night
  the enveloping veil
    the pale desert

hear the swell,
the rolling flood of light,

breaks

the stampede of dawn
draws the blood
to the skin of the rock
blushing in the spotlight

the sunken stars
in the ocean of light,
a soundless ocean.

The bright piercing moon,
perforates
the anvil black sky.

Tallying our time,
as it blooms and subsides,
like a grandfather
winking
a supernal eye,
surveying the lawn
of perennial pawns
and infallible annual gods.

With a logic all its own,
it salutes and bemoans
the Great Sphinx’s nose,
and the wind scattered scraps
of the Rosetta Stone.

Some seer will come,
before too soon,
or a scientist,
wont to presume,

But in gold and stolen
myth they’ll stand ,
like fraudulent kings,
yelping lambs,
flaring though spring,
with bluffs in hand,
until they wither
unto grains
of sand
.