Nomad's Land

What I reached through, really,
was a wrinkle, a ripple of wind,
a hiss of a far-fetched cry.

Which sent me wandering
with a curse nagging my mind,
a spy with dazed eyes
drunk with clues.

I paused in flotsam villages
where shadow people gazed
at fields of far-off light.

And guided by their eyes
I reached an electrical mecca
that hissed in its sleep
and raved like a crackpot god
shocked from a terrible dream—

a shivering scream whose clarity
offered me a home:

Find thy grace in this lost bog
is all ye need to know.



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