In a pernicious desert
On top of a craning sun dune,
Amidst an intractable dry draught.
As I search for any given shade
There comes a soaring bird;
Wings faux like leafy branches
It glides about while I jostle to its shadow,
To lick my crumbling lips
And bend to dust my sore feet
While almost in the oblivion of its shade;
It snatches a piece of flesh from my dry back.
A poem by Tonny Wandella