The desert is a barren city,
A wild place, populated by the absent.
The small lizard who scurries away in silence.
A sand-spider on stilted legs travelling across the dune.
While the crowds of vultures gossip at the watering-hole.
Though the traffic is slow and quiet,
It’s urgency is no less.
Each day the janitor sweeps aside dusts of gold.
A gatekeeper, invisible, omnipotent.
Though the grains glitter, they are harsh and dry,
Coarse and grating against the skin.
Still there’s beauty in the business,
A vastness people by movement.
You may not see it but it’s there,
Moving, changing, and growing.
but never silent or still.
bardicblogger 