Son of sand,
lie of your own heart,
tend to others.
My need is broken.
Behold!
Great birds
strut beneath my span.
A horned viper
charges your soft ankle
(smoke a last time)
the image slithering away
like a slippery barge
charmed by music,
gone so quickly.
It was only your wish
for freedom
if that's what you say.
Should you seek eternal life
be prepared to pay
the 42 goddesses
with something real.
Miracles,
perception,
children,
song,
laughter,
love
hold no value.
The deed is the word.