Tendril-wafted dunes
of barren sands waffle,
swirl across mindless mile
upon mile, in every direction-
your face appears, a horizon away,
there is little comfort found
in its accompanying echoes.


Drifting sticks caterwauling,
wail on, in the pitched wind,
stretched by distant recollection-
stylus of a scribe named Regret;
each flurrying breeze shifts
turns over and over a new page,
taking with it freshly shed tears.


Foetid droppings steaming out
of some wastrel, desert vagabond
provides a vivid reminder
of how it can never be again,
to kick it away -- desolation
could only deign contaminate
these well-worn wandering shoes.


Head facing forward
wherever the nose points
except in the back of the mind
where gentle oasis burbles-
each leafy frond conceals
intimate moments now buried
within the unmindful desert's belly.*


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