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