by Philip Hyams

And so the hot dry Sinai
Beckoned like an immense vessel of refuge
Perhaps like a woman in the throes of seduction
So I fled to the oasis and Nueiba with crystal
sharp lights of blazing orange/brown hues
And at night…piercing quiet…at last
With a marble of cobalt-blue skies
Massaged by the washing hands of a Red Sea in slumber
To quell the turmoil in the heart
Of this high-tech refugee from a
Land lit up by diodes and Web-driven Fantasies
This fantasy was momentarily needed above
The reality-check days of pressurized
Urban madness
The Fleeing…accepted by a heart
Beginning to quiet.

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