–  Kevin Hart

This is where the deserts end.

This is the city where the dead still live.

Here, at evening,

The sun and moon are both still full,

And when you arrive

The road can take you nowhere else.

Enter this inn

And see its empty table, its dead fire,

This window where

Those distant mountains stare into the past.

Remember

That woman with a broken jar,

That young man

Feeding swine in the sad desert twilight.

They say that silence leads us here,

That we are led

As if by hand, wind running fingers through the dust;

Inside, the silence

Will take you by the hand.

Here you bow to enter doors;

Here, a man once came

As one of us

To speak of all that we are not.

Now feel this stillness

Where two opposing forces clasp: this is the room

Where bread is broken

To make us whole, the inn of our desire.