About

I sat on the spit and looked through the silk of the fading light: at the hollows of the body of the sand, the ridges, the bone-like edges, the soft folds, watching the individual stalks of grass sticking out like hair. Neither naked nor dressed, that body of the desert. He is about to show up. You can't see Him. But He is here. Behind the Dune. In a long, white robe He returns. Smiling.
There won't be a love story. Only the longing for it. That's what we talked about lying under the stars at night. Without touching each other. I couldn't give or take something. I listened to …