Gazing over painted sands
Beneath the brazen skies
Is not a feat that one can do
With desiccated eyes.
Eyes were given to this husk
Of what was flesh and bone
Before his ceremonial rites
Had covered him with stone.
Stones are such a fragile crust
To place upon a grave;
Wind and sun will scatter them
And hollow out a cave.
Now the hollows of his eyes
Are washed with rains of spring
And filled with dust of summer heat
That winds from mesa bring.
(Norman MacLeod)
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Based on Topics: Spring Poems, Summer PoemsBased on Keywords: ceremonial, mesa, desiccated