At the oasis: dusk, dark intimations,
Faint simoon. Marooned Cassandra, waiting.
Consciousness: wily nets, loosening strings.
Odor of sex. Arpeggio-like oud
Runs up and down stepping-stone vertebrae.
Recumbent Traveller, in halter top,
Consuming some lilac-colored fruit. Moving
Without thought, without knowledge of anything
Into life, as ice melts in the mountains,
As the blue desert wind moves into a dune,
Lifting its yellow tresses, sifting, rushing
Over umber sands to a horizon from
Which night flings up a giant sky, billowing,
Weighed down by tons and tons of mute stars.
Western Sahara: from Palin's Travels