I walked through the deserts,
the breezing brusing my shoulders,
becoming my breath,
whispering my name.
So I followed it.

It led me through the barren brush
stiff and wide-awake
and the dried husk of the moon was rising
into the indigo night.
So I watched it.

I thought I heard cold voices
and saw orange eyes glowing back
like half-set suns they watched me
and the voices rose like wavering heat.
So I listened.

Words were not their ways
as I encroached upon their land