I taste you on the air, Rain Man.
Are you caught behind the mountain?
The pale daughter of the sun, Rain Man,
stalks behind the storm.
We are in darkness, pitch thick,
save for the smell:
Of damp stone and dark leaves,
Tamed sand and the musk of moist fur.
I know you were here, Rain Man.
when we, the people,
were still under the earth.
Grandfather shale reminds us of that liquid age.
My fingers have traced stone spines of strange creatures,
with legs that ran over the crust land of the sea,
Alien insects that burrowed into the salted mud.
I feel forgotten when I find them.
So I lay them side by side,
to lure your eyes and entice your memories.
Perhaps, if you see your stone sea sperm,
you will remember us,
the children who followed after.
Devour the sand,
wash it from where it sticks in our lungs.
Blind the gold skies black,
for the sun scorches
even our blood hardened skin.
We of the wind and the sand and the sun.
We of the sage and the stone.
We often forgotten, by you, Rain Man,
the people below the mountain.
Alternative Version posted July 7