was never that good at discerning real
relying instead on what was felt
as it moved across or sank into
the contours of my beating heart

my expectation of universal, is of my own illusion
perhaps in lifetimes so far beyond
its comprehension could not be known
within the mindset of modern man

dust on my jacket from desert southwest
east to the river then further south
tribal traders and jewelry makers
gather in winter to share their crafts

where I escaped, the world of compete
wagers and bets of no importance
as men beat their chests in domination
while the earth slowly starves to death

watching sunrise over sandstone mountains
and sunset upon the windswept terrain
unexplained and yet I sensed
the journey brings us back again

I huddle in my night clothes this morning
and I remember, how your love feels
perhaps it was the crystal touches
that gave me a moment to focus

the warmth of you, and your gentle caress 
your lovers sigh, and knees in the sand
the way I sense you always there
like moisture in an arid land