Under an unblinking august moon
frost clouds shroud a purple sky.
Silver magic splashes everywhere,
bathing dust and skin and hair -
and a false-winter chills the dunes
beneath the piercing pagan eye.
Transfixed by that timeless gaze,
I fall under silent command
bidding me march through desert lands.
A river of moonlight marks the way
past dusty worlds of frosted grey
spilling over dunes and horizon bend,
before coming to a cryptic end,
arid miles over the clay.
Joined by none of human kind,
following countless pilgrims past,
I know my journey is not the last
to meet the eternal desert mind.
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