Skip to main content

Elemental Rift 1: This is Desert

This is desert.
The heat drains my energy,
until it feels like my soul has been pulled through my crown.
When I try to look around,
all I feel is my body churning,
my head still, as if fixed on a screen.
I rub my eyes and they fill with sand.

The dunes rise,
and lash at my body.
I'm simultaneously elevated,
to break down in the same scene,
and also buried;
smothered beneath the weight of sand.
This eternal cycle.

I rub my eyes and they fill with sand,
clarity failing,
horizon constraining,
I am the water that takes the shape
of what is around,
and here is shapeless shifting.
This is desert.


[Inspired by the music of Ben Howard and John Luther Adams]
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

We Are Walking

We are walking in a wood. To our left I see paper in the process of dissolving in a pool of water. You are wearing a long, beautiful skirt, that I haven't seen you in before, which occasionally swishes against the clumps of newly fallen leaves. Above, the wind replies. Nearby, to our right, but out of sight, water burbles by, though the ground we walk on is gradientless. Birds chatter music all around, enjoyably consuming lingering summer insects. There are no further away sounds. We have walked like this for years, extensive explorers. Stronger. Interlinked. A twig snaps. You turn to me with a well-known, warm, calm smile. Let's keep going . 
Post a Comment
Read more

On Remembering That I Used to Climb

The call of the wall, periodical, methodical ascent with intent. Route schematic; left-foot, right-hand, right-foot, left-hand, leap and swing, match and detach and on to the next. Choosing, falling, grooving and improving. Next day, wrists of clay, crumbled and stiffened, once agile, now fragile to any of the many daily demands on the hands. The habit was leaving on a wind of healing, fraught and caught and taken away, to be perennially a memory, a delight consumed by the violent bite of history.
Post a Comment
Read more