We went overground
from the Temple of Queen Hatshepsut
to the Valley of the Kings.

We went underground
to the blues, the greens, the reds:
the Earth's painted jewels.

We went across the ground
to the plentiful human forms
that performed their tasks:

plowing, building, selling, making.

But now,
it's the caked buildings and chalky skies.
The sun summons the call to prayer and
I find myself hot, dirty, and irritated.

The magnified static illegitimately,
yet naturally wedges itself into my day.
It turns to ash in my hands.

The heat has washed over me. The sweetness
of the morning air has evaporated and
barren, potted plants now rest at my feet.

The dark brown bodies were idealized

and hard at work. They had triangular torsos
and one complete eye. But I didn't see
their sweat, their tears, their hunger.

Where were these things
and where are they now?