The last sonnet Falling. Link to Part A
Knowing around 0%, about the influence
of deserts on man— aside from sun burn
& visions— i might discover, people who’ve known
only deserts, actual or otherwise;
that falling is counter intuitive to existence;
unsalvageable dependence on fideism, buoyed by prayers
for fields of cereals & oases, time-lapsing into oceans
& forests of hard woods— a focal shift to horizons.
As a child, on a Welsh beach, i tried
(on good info) to scoop my way to China,
i thought it a stupid endeavor. On a hunch
i figured there must be a point at which
the sand caves in to a remote nowhere,
or perhaps Shanghai, a fishing vessel
against the skyline—but more likely, sand.