It is better to madden the desert than to live there

Interior deserts,
vague litanies for someone who died leaving all the doors open.
A gray cloak over another cloak of no color.
Excessive densities.
Even the wind casts a shadow.
Mockery of the landscape.

Nothing left to call to but a flat dark sun or an endless rain.
Or wipe out the landscape with the wind and its shadow.

And there is one further resort:
drive the desert mad until it turns into water and drink itself.

It is better to madden the desert than to live there.