In the middle of the desert,
he unearths broken pieces
of pottery covered by sand.

He finds more as he digs,
puts them into the bag.
He carries on and walks

for miles without thirsting.
He looks forward, sees the sun
dry up a body lying by the dune.

He picks it up into his arms,
feeling its pulse, its breath.
He pulls close to the face

letting his tongue move
inside the mouth, slowly
giving heat to its veins.

The eyes open and he sees
history. He leaves the body
with broken pieces of pottery.


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