and i sing to the boundless earth,
letting its returning voice carry me to far-off
cliffs, where the power of water can be heard
in the waves, seen in the caves rising like cathedrals
where fish hunt and shelter; my thoughts
(slow and damp) evaporate from sandy beaches,
sun-scorched dunes, and rise as mist
above the place where some unknown force
turned miles of desert sand into solid sheets of glass
and the amber stones in Tutankhamen's crown
crystallize now the image of some ancient
soul, standing on a beach, hand shielding sun-
flooded, light-filled eyes; gaze traveling over
the same stretch of sea before the same alabaster
dawn; the billowing fields of imagination
flung out and over the water,
grains of sand blown high as the stars.
how delicate is space and time, how elastic.
now, in my room, i run my rustic
hands over your palms,
forgetting my fingerprints.