Night. A humid night, where the face
of the land has lost its color.
Wind, the descendent of clouds gallops
down the mountainside toward me.
Night, like a bloated body warm in the standing air.
From here, a lost man can’t see his way.
The warm body of the desert extends
like a corpse tight in its grave,
like the charred heart
in my tired body burning feverishly.
There is night. Yes. Night.