The Hope of Angels

The desert on one side, rust red and endless, without mercy.
On the other side, the sprawl and nothingness of the city.
She stands astride her motorbike on the high bluff, wondering.
Wondering which way it’ll go, which way she’ll be happy and free.
 Evening, and still it’s hot and so humid she wishes she had gills.
The darkness is falling, and the stars are coming out, so bright.
The stars so beautiful, yet untouchable, unknowable to her.
Sweating through her clothes, hair matted, she looks between.
 Half-way between heaven and hell is worse than either, not knowing.
The desert is wild but empty. The city is indifferent, but has hope of angels.
Looking down, not at all godlike, the city seems almost like stars earthbound.
Looking down, the desert seems eternal and patient, without a voice to speak.
 One way or the other. Always, One way or the other.
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