Added 23 June 2003
Footsteps on river rock But the water is transient. I can almost feel the desert drinking me. As the landscape envelops me A name doesn't mean much when the desert devours.
give way to the sound of splashes.
Similar in every way.
The desert consumes it
as it does everything else -
slowly.
The march - this marching -
is the comfortable padding
of bare feet on the
prickly earth.
The ground chips chunks
off of my feet.
The remains of me
trail off behind.
I lose my identity.
Written 20-21 November 2000
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