today the old man, the wrinkled man the one man sat in the shadows. he
spoke in soft tones and i listened. he
of filth and the coming of dust.
he spoke of spires against a red sky and the fall of the mind. it was a quiet
desert scene. sandy cliffs and godlike clouds
by the sun rose and set
lighting the mans eyes sending the shadows in curious directions
the mans speaking evoked fear from me which he could smell and he lapped
up eagerly i asked
why it must be so soon for i had many things left
unfinished he only stood and began to dance on the canyon floor i was
apart from him and did not comprehend the language of his dance he
would speak no more and i was left alone in the sun wondering about the
nature of god the mind of god and how it had just kissed my sandy