Moon shining down
Upon a lunar landscape
Of reds and browns and pinks and blacks and greys and greens
Shimmering in the heat
Of a thousand ovens
Quiver trees stand guard
Over vast emptinesses
Of sand and rock
Hot, burning my hands
As I stoop and touch their barrenness,
Their wildness and their loneliness
I feel as if I am alone
With this landscape
Nothing exists but us
Both blown by the same hot winds
Both scorched by the same hot sun
Is there any reality but ours?
© 1991 – 2025, Adrian North. All rights reserved.