Ashanti

It was the farthest he had yet journyed.

Crossing the great straits

Following, reflected as in a mirror, the exodus

Over the desert where the sands and stars lock in embrace.

He walked and as he walked,

he wept.

The red earth sighed to him, “Why?”

and as he could give no answer

he strode onward.

There was no strain of music

no songbird,

no swell of water.

Only breath

and aroma of dust.