The Limnu

Unbidden, they come.

Great hoards of them,


or whispering.

Desert sounds,

like huge spiders

walking on dry leaves,

or snake skin scrapping

endlessly over scorched sand.

Only it is voices,

not sounds.

I hear them,


though I do not

want to.

So I turn towards

the origin

of the apparently

silent rabble,

for not everyone

can hear them.

I smile at them,


and they are


They are not used

to people

not being frightened.

So I snicker at them,

and go about

my work.


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