I was quite cold.
Papa had warned me
the desert is infectious
 you breathe in the dryness
and it takes over,
an all-consuming quiet.

I was quiet alone
restless, my eyes blink open
head rocking back and forth
stone pillow, bed of faux fabric
me inside my mummy bag,
waterfall below
black sky above
a blanket of stars,
just beyond my grasp.

on the day previous
the hot Sun was a serpent
shadowing my footsteps
the radiant silence only interrupted
by each meandering footfall.

back to my tossing
it is still dark
fabric of the sky filled with
starry holes

the wind refuses
to stop talking until at last
my eyes surrender, closing aflutter
my fingers reach upward to
grab the blanket
as the waterfall below
mumbles goodnight.
                        

A bearded old man tears his clothes
in stunned silence
his country shredded
beyond repair

The children divorced from reality
play games of war
kill, kill, kill everyone there

A holiday pie
sliced and diced, nearly inedible
crumbles in despair.