Walking Long The High Desert

On the day
She walked out
of the high desert,
Stumbling out and away
From parched and arid moorings
And marched for a fortnight
To the music of freedom,

It was a mere shard of a millisecond
That like a juggemauted epiphany,
The revelation of having said,
To this place: "We are no more!"

Came as stunningly
as her Phoenixed wings lifted her,
Up drafted and out and over the desert
And into the oasis of her heart's delight,

For the Camelot tree of her dreams
Bore real fruit
And what had been
The desert prison of her soul,
Became the verdant, rolling hills and meadows
Of all her flowered tomorrows...