the temples built of gold, silks finely spun,
a song of palaces in babylon,
where mede's daughter pined beneath the sun,
for mountain streams and hills to walk upon.
before the persians let the city fall,
great babylon held asia to the east,
the hanging gardens near the mighty wall,
their history told by an ancient priest.
if herodotus added to his tale,
he lent to grandeur with a poet's tongue,
a vision by euphrate's winding vale,
the river flowing where his story sung.
nebuchadnezzar built to please his queen,
to bring her trees and vines of verdant green.


amytis - daughter of king medes.
king nebuchadnezzar 2nd - built the gardens
herodotus - greek historian from ionia.

I am sand - drifting formlessly, settling briefly;
dusting edges traced clean by housekeeping’s judicious forefinger.

I am sand - black with iron and ****** wrath;
shattering glassily against a wine-stained ceiling.

I am sand - my trespasses turned to pearl;
rippled and flurrying, wedged between sandal-clad toes.

I am sand - porous with desire yet disarmed by possibility;
a fortress on the brink of invasion by the sea.

I am sand - recalled to the desert, claggy with melancholy;
a loping caravan of travail, westward bound.

I am sand - measureless and infinitely uncontainable;
sifting from hour to hour...and life to life.