Desert Walking

Back in the day the cows were the giants
and we had delusion down to a science.
Now we hop like aphids over our garden,
dream of blessings that don’t come,
while those gaunt cows eat it all
and stay skeletal. Watching.
In the dream there were easy years first
to get us ready for the next,
but they were done when we got here.
Since visions are like similes,
a dream is the bait
in a have-a-heart trap
set out cunningly, waiting.
Calling.

That was then, back in the day.
It’s all done but the walking.
Now it is just desert and desert
and has been and has been,
but I’ll not go back to dreams.
Since walking is nothing like a simile,
desert walking keeps my feet real.
Even a little waking hope
wins over dreams any time.
Day and day I walk and walk again.
I scan the sky for another garden.
I look for a promised land to go to.

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