If you can hover in the heated air simmering over those shifting sands, will some primeval spirit begin to stir in your blood? Will you be able to hear the songs of the first camel caravan, smell the ancient wisdom in the flickering light of old camp fires and read the poetry spelt out by the sharp edges of the waiting dunes?
Can you discover in the depths of that brown ocean, the bleached lives of intrepid men and beasts and the lost stories of their impassioned journeys that the shadows try to recount every evening at sunset?
in the restless desert
like sand through clenched fists
time slips away