(written above the sahara desert December 16th 2009)
at an altitude of 36000 feet
the desert is blue and
the horizon – there is no horizon –
blurs into a
pink peach tangerine tan
we might be flying upside down;
how would I know?
sand. it is immense.
it has literally moved mountains;
it carves its own.
the scales and tails of long ago rivers
ripple and stretch;
their fingers like forests fanning out
on the sea below.
the last cried tears left trails of their salty tears
that confuse and make us think:
only historically, it would seem.
but then. the movement of sand builds, and falls.
and the orange hills graduate
into green and blur –
could this be? are we at the edge? yes, those look like
real rivers and simple vegetation and
did I just see waves slapping at the shore?
oh. more sand.
that is its ability to conceal
in insolation its game.
now everything has turned blue.
dusk darkens the tones
and mutes them all out.
the sea of useless matter –
what, humans can’t seem to find
much economic use with it, thus it olds no value, right? –
has blurred further,
lying cold and restful in dormancy across the desert.
somewhere 1944 kilometers from Accra
there is a particular spot where
nothing distinctive takes shape.
its barrenness is unrivaled;
in the sea at least the wind plays and frolics
and foams up a shark or something.
that is a complete void –
an expanse of staleness, numbness,
a holding ground for future violent purgatories
or zen spaces
depending on the day’s heat.
then a ripple – a small one.
December 16th 2009 5:32 pm