The Woman From Time Poem by elysabeth faslund

Nuit drove her one-horse chariot down jungle paths.
Blue-sheen black hair. River-green eyes
Saw...things. Flying wings. Fire. Dying in the sky.
Nuit. Silent. Sheep herders avoided those eyes.
Nuit. Content. Palace maids laughed with her.

Slanted light. Gems bottoming silken streams.
Nuit stopped. Washed sweat from clothes. Sun.
Rock-dried. Sun. Vision of sand drizzling thru fingers.

Clean, white ermine fur. Mountain gift. Oceans North, West?
Nuit's father disapproved. Visions, This daughter, his vision.
'Father, what sand? Not on beaches. Oceans...'
'None. I don't know. Cooks are angry...daughter is back late.'
'Who isn't angry, Father? ' Nuit read faces, hands...

In time, Nuit aged, bore 3 sons, a daughter. Sent
Her father to the mountain burial cave. Ruled his empire.
Joined him, all her family, years later.
Last words...'Fire wings. Sands.'

The archeologist mopped forehead sweat with his cap.
A digger came running. Piece of wood held up.
'Forest? Trees? '
'None. Not here, man. Cook is angry. Eat now.
We fly out tomorrow.'

The digger looked at the sand dunes. Wood. Mumbled,
'From traders, maybe. Crossing
This
Sahara Desert.'