All the blue camels
the bright red oxen,
the green mules,
o and the drivers,
riders, grooms and guides,
they are all colors too.

2.
So the rocky desert rang
with so many hooves,
sandstone echoing—
you could hear them coming
from a mile away
if you were there.
But you were not there.

3.
No. You were riding, tall
on a camel of your own,
salt mules slogged along
around you, you like it slow,
keep the animal spirit low,
give the camel a chance
to think as he steps along.
And his slow pace gives you
the quiet music all
travelers need to sort out
the tumbled archive
of their memory mind.

4.
The god of going had made sure
there are many oases on this route.
Almost every night you came to water,
wafture of sweet fruit trees, soft lively
shade after all those stony shadows
the desert is so loud with. Hurry,
you’re here. Slip off the beast, let it
fossick on its own, you stretch out flat
in the glad horizontal of the night.

5.
You’d almost think I’m following you,
spying on routine, daring to evaluate
somebody else’s reality—it would be
just like me. But I’m not. My days
of traveling are mostly past, I’m happy
to sit and watch you from afar.
But even from here I can hear
the clinking of the camel bells, the sand
they shuffle through, your own sighs
when every now and then even you
wish it could all go faster, even you
grow impatient with what’s now.

6.
I suppose that must be why
you climbed on the camel
to begin with. Like so many,
you allowed yourself to think
that now means here, and some
place past the horizon would be
a better now to be in. The camel
could have told you otherwise
but he’s just along for the ride.

7.
I know the feeling,
that’s how I got here
too, though to be honest
I never had an animal,
I had to walk the whole way
from the bed to the window
and taking deep breaths
go all the way to the door.
Where I’ll be waiting when
some fine day you’ll slip
off the camel’s back and tap
half timidly on that ancient wood
and all the words in the
world will let you in.

6 August 2020