Arabia, early eighth century. Abdul Alhazred entered the great southern desert alone. There were no roads to follow, And no reason to believe That anything waited beyond the horizon. Before the ink, Before the binding, Before a hand could give me form, He crossed a land that kept no footprints, Under light that gave no warmth. Every dune erased the last one. Every night consumed the way. Still he walked toward empty distance As the desert stripped the world away. No tower broke the horizon. No smoke disturbed the sky. Only something in the silence That would not let him turn aside. Come farther. Where the last road disappears, Where the wind removes the evidence That anyone was ever here. Come farther. Leave the certain world behind. You are looking for a place. You do not know What you will find. Water measured out in mouthfuls. Stars became his only map. Day by day the open distance Closed like something at his back. Then one evening on the horizon, Where no landmark should have stood, A single line remained unmoving While the dunes around it moved. Too straight to be a mountain. Too distant to be known. He watched until the daylight vanished. It did not disappear. Come farther. Where the last road disappears, Where the wind removes the evidence That anyone was ever here. Come farther. Leave the certain world behind. You are looking for a place. You do not know What you will find. I had no pages. I had no title. No hand had written What I would become. But some knowledge waits Before it has a language. Some doors exist Before they are found. At dawn The line was still there. Black against the burning sky. One direction. No road. No witness. No reason To continue. Come farther. Let the empty desert close Every path that ever promised You a way of going home. Come farther. There is something past the sand. You believe you crossed the desert. The desert Led you here. He walked toward the distant line. And I moved One step closer To being written.
