The Sahara of I
 

Pen, not a ballpoint no, puts

down in place in a pen of a

page likes, peeves, dreams,

hates, detritus—always new 

this old challenge, to 
 

find a person lurking in the

Sahara of I, that one who can

speak differently but unbearably

familiar, emerging out of years

of strangeness, my own
 

Lawrence of Arabia

to approach this oasis, this

genesis, bearing three gifts 

for the Holy Child:

Pen, Paper, Word.