City of

the dead

 

soaring

 

rose sand:

Bedouin like

 

lost pirates,

kohl lined

 

eyes

 

cries that

split the

 

thin air.

 

I was lost

to myself

 

until I

climbed like

 

mountain goat;

found,

 

eagle spun

on anabatic

 

wind.

 

Yalla, yalla,

young boys

 

beat donkey’s

side,

 

wind whipped:

 

& I

 

endorphin high,

teeter

 

on the edge,

leaning into

 

my own void.