Darkness scales the heights.
Swordpoints of sunlight cut the sky.
Ever so slowly dusk bleeds stars
over the pyramids of night.
There is nothing to say.
We pitch the tent and light the stove.
Cooking food is a stranger here,
embraced lovingly and devoured.
We eat & couple & retire.
Moonless dreams and nightmares
circle the cocoon.
We are mummies here,
every night lying quiet
for ten thousand years.
E. A. Costa March 18, 2014