Who Takes This Desert Home?
Shadows stick into the horizon
like thorns of flame.
I am a magician,
angels on my right
illusions on my left.
On my shoulders, sands that lost their way
spout,
and in my head a whirlpool pervades oblivion.
Armies chase me
and there is no refuge
except for the cloak of God.
The desert unrolls
from mind to mind
where hope
in the old stone
stirs up death
for a song that never dies.
This is my phantom strewn about water.
This is my sun rolling down on the dunes.
