The butterfly beats
his splendid wings,
casting ripples that coax the arid sand.
The rolling beckons
the death knell's ring.
Sure is our destination in this land.
"Memento mori"
we think it sings.
The waggish muse cracks an endearing smile:
"Ashes to ashes,
sweet dust to dust.
Come, sit, my darling, here for awhile."
We step outside Time
(more Space to see):
From dust and moth spring the Joshua tree.
