Tomorrow dried in the hopes of reaching yesterday.
The silver glow of a lazy moon floats and infects the aura of a late, starry, night.
I wander off into the desert in search of you [again].
The wind howls her discomfort but I don’t stop.
I never did, I wouldn’t now.
I stare on, past horizons, and keep my eyes peeled.
It’s harder to see when I know the sun won’t be up for ages now.
But still... I keep on walking and as I walk, I find my realities:
-The remains of a dead orca whale
-A ship-wrecked pirate’s boat from 1509
-My right lung with cracked edges and dusty air holes.
Out of disappointment, I retrace my trails in the sand and follow the diamonds in the sky.
I can smell the songs of my mother and father, of my pastor and of The Spirit.
I can taste the bitter call of my ancestors.
I can feel the lost essence of my nation.
But of you...
I receive not even the palest dropp of hope.
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