Desert Heart

my moods swing with the seasons, sometimes I am in a fog
in the morning, stormy during the day and silent on a
moonless night waiting like a snake to strike
other times on windless summer days
baking in the heat I am listless
like a single wisp of cloud in
the endless blue
I long to be
the dried
up river
in the
desert where
once perhaps
in earlier times
Moses floated in
his basket down the
reed beds or perhaps
the Pharaona’s barge
took her back home from
temple; I am the nameless
dust which blows into the gritted
teeth of travelers in their caravans
and makes the camels itch, I am the
sand fish that scampers about under a
thin layer of white sand pouncing upon
the nameless unsuspecting insect before
he is even aware of the danger he is in, I
long to be the wind, the sand storm which
in the end quietly peters out returning to
the mystery from which it came, our
motherthe unknown from which all
came I miss you with such
passion that even time
can’t heal

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