Desert Poem

These are the sands of time frozen,
Captured and cropped like a parrot,
Stillborn while yet still living,
In my hands I capture eternity,
Squeezing the trigger of instant
immortality that rushes to fads
And crashes over old, old visions.
Dust you are and dust you shall
Become but dust is the stuff
They heat and grind and polish
to make lenses and apertures
The sweet coffin of active life
The cage where nature goes to die
Or live forever enshrined in glory
Fading since the dawn of time.