A Gift Of Desert Sand

by Michael Lee Johnson

I wish to offer you
a possession, but all
precious things have
been given to you:
diamond rings from weary strangers,
fine linen weaved by foreign hands.
But a nomad owns little,
scavenges much.
For this reason, I write
warm words in dry wilderness,
hijack a private plane,
parachute down to you
this short poem, a gift
of desert sand, a gift
from desert sky.