Crunched brown under smoky sky;
The Sahara, it breathes to the wind.
Horizon risen as serration so soundless,
Where maps are born, raised and bound.
A white horse with skin twitching;
Be-flied, red-eyed, in heat unflinching.
Fits of colour, plaintive barks of the past;
Rock leaning and broken, cracks pinching.
Piety is whispered and casual, with a
Peace and a leave of mind.
Assured and omipresent,
It is a glowing faith we find.
Rough bush and dried rush
Encroach a nouveau, swerving connective
That sends us up, down through time.
Asunder we are launched, reflective.
Smooth, without haste,
Among peaks who berate, emasculate.
Moisture is babbled at a distance,
A dribbled longing, where we elate.
Cattle in ploughed plains chew
Soon to be a fat, roasted, turning.
Scarce flapped feathers pump hot air,
Gliding with a brazen free yearning.
A rippling beauty without limit
Is our summit, an arrhythmia of calm.
We smoke and smile in flowing sun
Until we’re woken, to pay alms.