|
|
 |
|
Do you move among steel tyrants?
Do you move invisible?
Through the desert, steps are silence—
ancient and inscrutable.
Hot wind, gilded paper flutter—
bleaching bones; ivory dust.
Powder tongues of nothing mutter,
“What of longing? What of lust?”
From horizon to horizon...
Where are all the scrolls of wisdom?
Where are all your acolytes?
Pressing on forever,
ever fleeing from a million nights.
Gravity may press an imprint,
fleeting as the flame above,
but darkness fills your every footprint—
such is hatred; such is love.
In an alabaster winter:
needles of obsidian.
Were your icicles to splinter,
we would know the fire then.
From horizon to horizon...
|
|
|
| |
