Whisper of sand against parched eyelids,
I am dry-eyed. There is no oasis,
No mirror on the ground, just the sun
Crying heat. Bleeding heat on naked skin
Turning flesh to weeping wounds.
Tell me where the camels water.

I must follow however far the horizon
Calls with a vow of succor and
A cupped palm full of rest.
Turn me from the illusions that vow
But never coalesce. Turn me from d
owned bodies and bleached bones
That reanimate when the sun is high
And as full as an eye brimming.

This desert cannot be where this body
Rises from a shallow grave.
No way will these bones turn as white
As the full moon.

Tell me where the camels water
Or tell me there is an oasis, after all.
Buried under sand and salt
And wind and broken mirrors
And a sun that never forgives nor forgets.


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng