My dear friend,
              I know,
In the desert, we have been friends.
Under the burden of the sun, in such sweltering design,
                           The chorus of reason has failed to reach us.
We have seen each other look for the same spot,
              The exact same place. Where neither the searing heat
Of the storms, nor a hundred dunes can still our voices.
Where your love for your wife will forever resound in its perpetual longing
              To be,
                         And where without heat or sand, there
My voice will finally hold still.
Is it not disappointing that in every question with even the slightest
Tinge of profundity, the only answer that pleases
                        The truth of our deepest insight
                                                         ­                     is yes and no?
The desert is unflinching in being barren, all the waters,
              Few and far between,
Are only images of those which are not desert.
You strike to spell love, but where will you keep it
As to let it hide from the light of the sun and the howling of harrowing sand?
My friend,
              It only piles up and up     and up.
And when it can no longer go up, pray tell,
How does it feel to view the horizon and see only more desert, vast and infinite?
How would it be like to look down and know
                                     That even now you are no safer?