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The cat’s eye gave up its mission,

And still wrapped in yellow satin,

Inside my pocket grew cold.

With the stone was gone my heart

Through the door of desolation

To a place where thoughts are smoke.

There they rested

Uncertain about tomorrow

Like two travelers accepting

That the desert is too broad, too hot and too cruel

And restless, linked with a sun that searches

For vile ways to dry their blood;

Not even nights provide shelter,

Not even the moon will glow

But instead inject the sand

With a chill that breaks their bones.

Cleverness can’t beat the heat

Or the storms that sadness sends,

Nor can magic, cymophane, or

Its honeyed hue of hope.