Desert

There is a point of tangency
in my thought,
not quite a notion,
an image of white gold
sand in motion
that rises to the ocean,
calling me to itself
I exist in the image, and,
yet, I don’t

There is a point of tangency
In my body,
A tattooed impression
On the backside of my
Consciousness
reaching my silent
memory with the words
“Here, my child,
look, this is the desert”

There is a point of tangency
in my being,
An image of a gazelle
That runs in the distance,
Under the cold stars
Touching the darkness

 

 

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