Echoes from the sandstone 
   gauntlet call me to
      the brink
         of ancient
            time

I walk the sun stained
	twisted
   		dunes
			To reach my simple solitude
Breaking brains 
	On bread and 
		shadows
			moist beneath
The depth
   of rock and
       hidden springs
Where are the gods
	the natives see?
Am I not born
	to be included
		in this revelry?

(c) 1996 James Oliver Smith, Jr