Thursday, February 10, 2011

Pacem

The desert this night is full of lizards:
sleek, lean, fat, scaly, horned,
skittering across the floor in the vivid blue light of the moon,
crossing paths, scaling the heights of each other
endlessly turning and churning the sand and rocks,
never letting them rest.
They dig network patterns into the dunes
and hurry forth with no destination, no final resting place in the sun.
Movement is its own purpose.

With a thin whisper
I can send them to rest,
back to their coves of memory,
their niches of passion,
their nests of solitude.
And I find the desert my welcome home and hearth,
once again.
I am sovereign.

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