The night before Christmas, or perhaps, the night before its eve, I was sat reading in bed and couldn't hardly break away from tuning in to the sound of its passage. I was reading about ancient cities, their great beauty that had been all destroyed by time and conquest, but for their bones, and I wanted to combine the two things, the way they had been united within my own experiencing of them. I don't think I succeeded, but here is my attempt.
As it is
the wind does blows now
to set the sands
in starry flight
so that they reach
from dune to streets
to the far expanse
of this very night.
It is a wind
that's roared for aeons
see, how it's cracked relics
of past days like a whip;
war scorched and glory worn
this very same wind
once sent man across globe via ship.
It has carried our faith
and many a fear,
our love and often a tear.
This wind will yet blow
when we are nothing but bones,
riddled and burnt
into Earth.
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