|
| stoics |
| a faded dry sky |
| this desert breathes barren -- |
| soft colors delude |
| in this harshness |
| parched, water mere memory |
| to drink from this ocean of dust, |
| bright sun sears bleached bones, |
| beating dead horses, |
| boiling blood from the living. |
| this is extreme |
| the sun, glaring heat, |
| crumbling in night's brittle clear |
| a place for the stoic, |
| the silent survivors, |
| grown skilled in the business of living, |
| sparse sketches in faded-earth hues, |
| and silence awaiting |
| the coming of gathering clouds. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
