Sahara cradles
the sun-bleached bones of a temple,
still strewn where the blazing heat
washed over it in trembling waves,
draining it of colour and shape,
reducing it to the gnawed on toys
of Sahara's chittering children.

She sighs
as the wind caresses
the curves of her back.
She shifts, slow,
and time covers
the shadow of the holy,
granting it final rest
in a dusty grave
under the watchful silver eye
rising in the heavens.

Sahara cradles
her new ward
to her chest
as the night comes awake.

h.f.m.