The Call
Of salt flats and saline soles,
Of white crumbs that melt on the tongue and crust in rings around feet,
Of a landscape terribly alone and solitary,
Of a moon that sets twice and rises twice,
Of a sun that rolls with its twin across the floor,
Of earth that wells with clouds,
Of birds who learn to live with the season as well as the seasoning,
Of a blue that extends as far as the white,
Of a white, that lies like a perfectly parallel mirror, self contained, neverending...
Of brilliant colours that soften when scattered over this white,
Of soft hues that suddenly deepen when poured over the light,
Of a world that would be just as mesmerising if it were spun on its head,
Of expanses that stretch out as far as the eye can see and the mind can imagine,
Of the feeling of being dwarfed by life,
Of native voices in alien lands,
Of unfamiliar songs in uncharted terrain,
Of a strange kind of empty home away from home, that beckons with all its quiet and its rolling wilderness,
 Of walking awhile on the breast of this wise, old sand,

Of living a day out of its cold noon and bemusing night,
Of breathing a few moments out of its magical age with you.
Of finding this place, and every other, mirrored inside each other.
Of knowing you, and finding me.