I cross the desert
without knowing
if you are on the other side
without knowing
if I hold enough years
to barter for miles
for the dream of a quicksilver sun
dancing always from one horizon
toward the next

I wet my lips
with the thought of you
keep my skin from cracking
with the dressings
of your illumination
when you are made of silver
and silk
and I have become too much
this sand
and would not know how
to touch and cup you
if ever I reached oasis
where dream bubbles from the ground
to be tasted on the tongue

while my left hand
is Hamsa
its dexterity only for dream
inside of dream
my right is rough and blistered
from guiding too hard
with these reins
and it can only be the journey
for the journey's sake
without an end to reach
thirsting with the dream
of a destination that comes to seek
the one who seeks to find
to deliver its quicksilver love
as water in a cup