She was the widow of Mauritania:
A woman who wanted to press her mouth on this sea of ochre dunes,
Lie in these purple hollows and dream
Spread out her arms in the sand like angel wings,
Like spikes of fated desire,
Feel the heat and dry wind invade her body.
Listen to the hot sand tingle along the ridges,
Invent enchanting secrets, beautiful secrets worth savouring,
Drive from her mind any sort of finality.