Every ray of sunlight,
     every grain of sand stings her skin,

     basking her eyelids in shadow,
          her hair in soft veils of dust.

Amid the unmarked boundaries,
     and the ghostly routes of nomads,

     her life evolves into every seed
          of millet, every wind and sand dune.

Caravans drift into monotony,
     the endless wait for her husband

     to return, his skin stained with indigo,
          salt, a ritual of bone, and milk.

The embryo sleeps in her womb—
     sometimes for years—

     and still her hands work through
          the hours carrying buckets

     of water, turning water into survival—
          survival into a tribe.