Mar 172004
Adrift... so terribly adrift.
Ever blown and reconfigured:
never the same.
As white as the pallor of death;
dry, unfeeling,
moving about with a purpose all their own.
So much activity,
so little result.
Moving here and there, only to move back;
today a valley, tomorrow a dune.
Their vastness draws out from me all that I have
and replaces nothing.
Not even the sign that my efforts are worthwhile.
And now they bury me,
these desert sands,
since I have become just as lifeless as they.