Dark, so very, very dark
the deepest purple glint
of a swirling black curtain
streams forth from an uncontained mind
alluvial fingers flowing back into rivers of themselves.
Desert sands seen only as blowing dust
ground from within a vulcanized soul
lifted by winds heard before seen
scaring obsidian with arching swirls
crescent reflections of the moon's gaze.
The sounds of silence will be given away
history unwritten always better kept in memory's fold
held by thought not yet lost in ancient words
as if to describe what has already been written in stone
observant success over assimilative failure.
Fool's gold sparkles from a granite face
tells of many dreams the land has spawned
a Sonoran sun that still shines at night
giving back the day after it withdraws it last rays
brightness in the nocturnal world.
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