he rises out of cold sands stone eyes give way to stone faces his teeth are rare jewels yet lack value or desire
he disturbs the dunes
silently
he tears cacti from the ground by their roots
he lets scorpions hide in his grainy skin
his music is the chirping of dying insects
his movements sound like the evening wind
he travels to the rock pillar in the desert somewhere, seeking his answers like a dog to his home
for years he travels, shifting through the sands, and the desert grows upon as if he never moved in the first place
he will find the place he seeks, one day, and he will talk with snakes about things snakes do not know about
his rough lips will quiver his hard eyes will well his soft mind will bend his old hands will clench
he will talk religion with souls full of deception and make decisions on the advice of committed liars
he will go from that place, head full of answers, and wander through the sands until he wears away
and where he finally rests his mighty shoulders for the last time there will stand a simple mark to say he had once existed and that he never once suspected his murderers