There is sadness among the stones
today, the rabbits are silent.
No wind. The heat bears down.
It has not rained for one year.
We have faith out here, desert
people, we wait, knowing with sureness
the swift cross of clouds, the blessings
of moisture (to deprive a man is to give
charms to him). I love this dry land
am caught even by blowing sand, reaches
of hot winds. I am not the desert
but its real name is not so far from mine.
Keith Wilson
