Take the detour made for horses, avoiding eccentric stone steps dangerous to hoofs and
slim ankles. This way shadows are deeper, breezes cooler. Thoughts hurry past concrete
cisterns, eyes shading words as they rise into sunlight.

 

 

Barbed wire fence reminds me that the land's been broken into shards, like a bone-dry pot
made, "out of / two parts earth / two parts gleaming / hunger, and four parts fire," hiding its
primordial design.