The dusty, baked-clay floor of a once drowned land,
Faced with steep cliffs,
Traced with dry riverbeds,
Spidered with dark gulches,
Below islands of pine-darkened stone,
Overlooking lakes that alternately shimmer white in the sun
Or pool turquoise-blue in the sinks of a famished land,
Forsaken by the mist-clung mountains to the distancing southwest—
All but forgotten as a single wisp of tailing cloud teases
A lonely, sunken lake, shrinking with neglect
Her hope destined for the mountains of his wispy desire.
-34,000 feet, at the base of a cloudbank roofing a thirsty land
He: Gilgamesh: Into the Face of Time
