The desert has one god, the Great Lord Sun.
Death is his servant, as the jackals know
That follow where the caravans dare go,
With obscene rites to claim what death has won.
The desert asks no grace and offers none,
Indifferent to withhold or to bestow,
A yellow sea that has no ebb nor flow,
Where only light is ended or begun.
No one has ever heard the desert speak.
The ocean has a voice and the winds seek
To win some answer to the word they bring.
The hungry jackal on his lonely way
Beholds the desert prostrate, worshipping,
But never yet has heard the desert pray.