Raw land, ancient,

sloping and wild, untouched,

orange in the dying light,

just rocks and sand.

Like the finger paintings of God,

an animal song frozen into sand,

a storm made land-

a stormscape.

Wild and empty of everything but the road

(so it's not empty at all-

it's full to the brim)-

absolutely free.

I wanted to be there.

I am there.

I am here-

Under the stars on the sand

in the seemingly endless,

eternal stretches of desert

over the Dead Sea.

I am here,

under the shadow of Masada.

Above me the wind,

soft like the hearts of children in springtime,

but fierce like unbridled souls

is stirred by the utter emptiness

and glorious silence

and intense raw beauty

to dance,

dance impossibly,

like perhaps we shall

when we die.