by Mary Crow
We set up camp in a painted tomb
below the desert where first rays
gilded stepped pyramids,
and we rose to white heat while boats
floated by without a ripple.
Nothing happened
but anarchy of sand and wind,
dynasties that began and ended with us,
extent of the known world
beyond which lay our inner darkness.
Continue reading
below the desert where first rays
gilded stepped pyramids,
and we rose to white heat while boats
floated by without a ripple.
Nothing happened
but anarchy of sand and wind,
dynasties that began and ended with us,
extent of the known world
beyond which lay our inner darkness.
Continue reading