Calling

The words slip and tumble down the gritty desert slope;
They escape the furnace's jaws and float through the mountain air
All the way up, past the clouds and the sky:
"Come down and join me in the desert, for I have found an oasis
Forsake your frigid void, your deathly vacuum!
Here, though the air is dry and the trees are scarce,
There is cool water, welling from the spring
and the ground is soft; it will break your fall...
Descend from your station, I ask you,
Where there are no trees, because roots can find no purchase...
Come down to me..."