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ISSUE:  Spring 1997

I am abandoned to a dream
in the desert: She is
rounded and statuesque,
the color of sand.
The heat of the sun
has drawn her up
into form.

At dusk, as I lie down
exhausted in the heat,
her arms, legs, breasts,
face and belly crumble
to the desert floor.

Each sunrise I meet her
figure rising up
from the sand, tempting me
to kiss her and die
of thirst.

I plod ahead
in search of an oasis,
if I can detect one
and not a mirage
in the sun’s glare,
as she glides at my side.


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