not in my lap
but upon my head
the structure pillars walls

not in a pile
in disastrous wreckage
the former ceiling
now was strewn

unable to be reconstructed
the rubble
remaining ruins
were blown away

I stood unprotected from scorching sun,
like one lonely tower left, tossed by the wind.

Glancing once at my tattered rags,
the last but for my tousled hair-
Glancing twice at my rapid hands,
known to desperate mend repair-

I shredded the last of those covering cloths,
ripping, destroying, and flinging them off,

and I cried, “Here am I”
the open

2 thoughts on “desert

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