From the red dust, the stranger emerged
thoughts a dead husk, he sought to have purged
dust clouded his eyes, wormed into his brain
there'd be no demise, no end of the pain
the dust it now spoke, so seductively assured
salvation in smoke, a sacrifice of words:
"Come into me childe, why must you be?
Let go of the wild, strive to be free!"
The stranger fell grim, his soul overcome
yet earth did catch him, 'er a stream did run
for a moment's stay, sans push or force
the red borne away, to the watercourse...
Contributed by Patrick Webb
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