in this desert you are king

and i stand still and listen to your heart for what it will say to me. Beneath this wide open sky, blue in the morning and orange in the evening, sandy all day long, i wonder where the rising dreams are, the invisible palpable stream.

in between dunes i am drifting, understanding nothing and seeing only the tops of waves that are not there, walking up hills that slip away underneath. the sky is a bottle neck then, close to me in farness. in the dark blanket of stars, cresting a dune ridge, the painfully cold air cries out for your voice to lead the people home.

in this desert you are king, the ruler and the unruly; the irrepressible tyrant and the irresponsible tyke. your servants fear you as they entertain you, they obey and are tickled, you preside over emissaries and orgies alike. i dream of date palms and square houses, shady corners to sip sweet tea in, warm roofs to sit on and watch the bloody sun set from, and the sound of water buckets splashing in wells in the courtyard where my thick smoke gives everything a haze of scented understanding. i dream while standing on the edge of each night's camp, looking at the fouled star map and the edict i reluctantly accepted, pondering the southern cross.

Beneath this sky, i wander.