The Namib

"All good things..."

You crack a  half smile.

All good things indeed.

I’d been trying

not to notice the peripheries,

where the blooms were browning,

and the sand once again

had begun to hiss

and devil.

"You always fear the end of things before they even start."

I wonder what in

our nature makes us

settle for such peaks

and troughs,

as the writhing spines of

doomed tilapia in our dwindling lake

begin to cut its surface

to shreds.

"I can’t handle you when you’re like this;

you really should get help."

Looking through you now,

watching the resigned desert dwellers

slowly depart like sad ships,

abandoning us

and our faded ephemeral turn

to begin another migration.

"Whatever.

I love you less."

You pour sand from your wineglass,

pick up your dancing shoes

and take your place amongst the fish bones

on the cracked lake bed,

as my thoughts turn to seeds

and next year’s rains.