Writ in Sand

Obligingly a friend vowed he would take

To Africa Endymion and “throw

it in the midst” of desert wastes—to slake

The poet’s thirst for death? We’ll never know

The reason for this surgeon’s offer, and

It isn’t known if that oblation was

Fulfilled (or whether blank Sahara’s sand

Is still the endlessly, blistering vase

Protecting his immortal poetry

Among the Pharaohs). If the codex sinks

In drily shifting dunes and in the lea

Of shadows from a searing secret Sphinx,

His name lies in a desiccated book

Where vipers hide or the scorpion shows its hook.