sahara el beyda

Poem for those with weary voice.

1.

it is the last of a

rolling grassland

it is the blowing of these hard

and petty ceaseless sands

it is the lash of them

hard rock of a man balanced

on thinning stem of hope

it is the weariness

of his eyes

it is how all things have gone

to dogs

it is how the memory

fails

it is the wind unresting

it is the final silent bow

unmarked

all the stores of your wisdom

swept in futile necessity down

upon the flats of pettiness

and covered

2.

fall in love again

with rain

plant and

believe

the earth does

her own struggle

to raise each blade.