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Desert Glass
Glass is born of deserts:
Thousands of tiny sand particles
Chafing and jostling each other
until they are forced into one.
Sun is the primordial ocean of the desert
and those who travel there
Swim and if unlucky drown
in its Pacific tides.
I have never seen the desert.
Friends return from Arizona and talk of heat
dense as water; the unrelenting warfare of light;
Cacti and lizards; crazy rock formations heaving themselves
closer to heaven; moisture stolen from your skin by force.
I listen, afraid to leave sight of the coasts
and travel inland--lost at sea.
When I first moved out my mother bought me glasses
So fragile they broke at the slightest touch.
We spent that summer sweeping,
Bleeding from shards in our feet.
When the last one shattered I bought thicker skin.
On days like today I am glass
longing to return to its component grains
and lie quietly on the breast of the Sahara.
And I could wish for the dryness of desert
That I have never seen:
To be filled with more sunlight than water.
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