Crushed velvet sandstorms rustle up new beginnings,
In the windy disparities of time,
Whilst the land looks on, smiling the empty smile
Of nowhere. I alone observe it.
Its failings, its hope and its desires
To be anything it wanted to be
Aside from this clump of land.
The things in its own imagination.
Finally, I see it storm its way out of this dust
That can offer it nothing but the vapid
Consolations of sun-stoked horrors –
And a handful of pearls, stroked tender by the night.
It whispers its way out of existence and then –
It is gone –
And I alone left with it.