Desert Flower

Out here alone, I, under the sun's burden, burn. The mountains, so far flung, barely in view, like a mirage, a mystical memory that can't quite seem to be, serve as a compass, a direction to hope for; a reflection of me - Waiting on a vision, looking for a sign, where 40 days mingle with 40 nights, I scan the land, and find, not an angel anywhere in sight. My tears fall like stones and lay upon the cracked earth. I drop to my knees, trying to retrieve them, but they melt away, ever departed; like an endless storm blowing, never content to stay where they started... Though I thirst, I can't even touch the water, over there - In great silence a whirlwind passes by. The dry is like dirt born from above. I long for a drink, and a word... but out here, in the desert, none is given, none is heard. Accordingly, as one must, I await the bloom, fearing, it may not be soon -