kicking up whitegold dust as the soon-gone-storm passes,
forcing scaled lizards from their rocks and waking
thumb-sized owls within the spines,
I found myself undeniably arid.
Crouching in the igneous soils, I reached
into my heart and withdrew
the words of wisdom the tomes of truth the books of beauty,
from which I fashioned myself an oasis.
Bringing the dark droplets to my throat, I caught sight
of those reflections and did their bidding.
In each was a face, to be forgotten
rather than unattainably desired.
Each with a formation of paladin script,
waiting to do battle with my inner-blaze desiccation.
Each trapped within my cupped, prison-bar fingers
waiting to be liberated and revolutionized by age.
First is Gillian, never to be reduced to nothing
I will never be her type of mythomaniac
I felt there, that day.
Next, Zoe, computer-taping paranoid
I will never have her confidential confidence
I felt their minds easing as blazing ice
So many more, yet finally, Anna, a brush with love and hate
I will never feel her strength and sandstorm-rage
I felt there, that day, their burning-freezing tranquility
At last, the liquid filaments drained and
I stood once more, heart hanging open,
as scarred-healed as the bared feet upon
which I trod, blackening my path.
After the peace after the storm after
the calm before the storm had passed, I
walk on, forever, a traveler of knowledge
save for my Memories and my Muses,
struggling to make a mark upon that land I called