Nomads

Here, where we have traced

sand circles by day,

danced ourselves to lostness

beneath the night's pale eye,

till we fall in a love trance

on the seething, swimming floor,

you say -- other deserts,

more flaming, more wild?

So, then, when we can no longer stand,

we can always make our way

on hands and gold-laced knees,

we can always find a way

to swim through tossing sand.