Action.
Alice, my signpost--
Here in this desert, in the yellow-warm and all-empty, I can see for miles the undulating wave-movements of crow and vulture. I have watched the saguaro sprout in sporadic little swollen toothpicks all around, 360 degrees.
I heard your voice today, echoing in the sand granules. I heard you in the intolerable blueness of sky, in the baked leather of my scales, in the cracked places around my dried-out eyelids. And then the bedragelled sea-gull from far, far away came with your letter.
fire and thunder! Sand and ashes! Even the caravan taste of the roasted lizard, the sweet hummus taste and the taste of desert manna dried up in my mouth and I roared, creaking my un-used wings skyward, thrashing my tail, scattering bulbous, black-winged birds and gypsy wagons willy-nilly as I rose.
So I am coming to you, home across the desert like baked bread, across forests like brittle twigs, mountains like lumps of ice-cream. Can you hear my roars and my whiffles, my galumphing and my fire-breath, my train-siren as I scream to-wards you? Are you listening? Can you hear it?
I am coming. Don't twitch a skin cell in your little pink nose, my crimson-periwinkle moth. I am coming, and I will carry you with me.
