Desert
Air on skin,
the chill of empty space, the
Nomad's grin,
the sand, the wave and the
Cold
will drive them back
In,
will keep them close to him. And they will
Hide inside
behind blind
Mirrors:
trembling in tents,
Hearts weak with fear.
He knows, he likes to
Keep them near.
And at
Night, with a pride
too big to
Swallow,
and with leprous
Hands
has them hum and dance
To him.
For they have
Boiled his faith
into ab-
-straction,
and coiled up in their
Sickrooms,
their bodies stir-stir-stir-stirring
In blankets.
Like a mother's withered
Breast, they still
set him to
Dreaming
of quar-
-tering steel
and of climbing
Fire.
With a dripping honey
Hole he'll be
winning them
Over,
and with calculated
Neglect;
he likes to know them
There.
And they will
Know that they
may only know
The laws of things;
never their
Meaning:
only
Laws.
And they will bury their
Holy blade
deep in de-
-voted chests.
And after
Such knowledge,
what
Forgiveness?
Desert
Air on skin,
the chill of empty space,
The smell of empty bodies,
the sand, the wave,
And nothing,
And nothing.