Tuesday, December 25, 2007



In civilizations without boats, dreams dry up, espionage takes the place of adventure, and the police take the place of pirates. –Michael Foucault

and it was in these bare sands
that you fell,


rain was a legend;
dust in the basins,
bones in their skin tents—
we made do,
we two

in such heat
that we were haze,
ablaze in the still air
while the curious
tunneled inside
to the four corners of you,
bearing questions and threats

until the dune-ship furrowed up
to take you aboard,
or so i thought.
i woke, i saw the distant wake
in the mirage.

i knew nothing of boats
until the first breeze
set me adrift.

a cracked heart
keeling over the grains
to the dream of water,
hot wind in the sails.

Christmas, 2007