To Quench A Queen

Lie still, with your ear to the
Sand
The sepulchre sings
Silent kings gaze from their graves
Grains nestle between shapes
Sealing the sleep of spirits
Their sacred god singes your cheeks
For one week, you stay in a dense room
The tents above whip apart
Your ancient messenger whispers
Within her stark sarcophagus
There is no more water