The date clicks into an awaited sum,
Stacking days across the gaps of months,
Like bridges over chasms of sand,
Folding dunes until they, unsettled,
Play their cavities like the gaping mouths of violins,
Bowing out the gargantuan cries of time,
Until the spans of peaks are reduced to meager nullity:
The desert laid flat.

Walking places less the same,
I mold the streets to memory frames,
And listen to the urban sprawl,
I've been here twice or not at all,
The air rolls over smoke filled streets,
That open wide in midday breeze,
And echo with my quickened steps.