Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.

What say the brown camels of Casablanca
to assassins nursing festered wounds of
new Karma?

Yesteryears recline on the shoulders of
a greying age, chanting songs to a
departing future — quicker on the heels of potentates.

Drums fade atop lonesome, hollow-crested
landscapes, accompanied by the invoked,
naked past.