To say I am sun obsessed and weary
would be like saying I am a pharaoh
who has crawled from the necropolis
with a mouthful of hunger.
I am the one who is afraid,
biting the reins, crossing the
desert before the wind takes
my pale voices back to the womb.
Say you cup your ears and
listen for the echo of my singing
Do you hear the sand between
my teeth? A midsummer hum?
This is the sound of my blooming
Call it a rebirth before you call it
an erosion of my many sweet-scented faces
and the footprints that lead back to my
Sarcophagus beneath the Mesquite Tree.
— DANIEL GAGE
Daniel Gage is a Midwest born librarian and writer, now living in Boston, Massachusetts. Daniel has always loved translating his brief musings on simple life and the great unknown into larger stories through poetry. He has previously published work in Big Windows Review and the Watershed Journal.