Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Dust Storm

Own dust, own wind, own a hand reaching
for a glass of water and voices
eating history at the casual table
beside the casual roadway — observe
one traveler and another pass lost
and seeking direction under an unrelenting
sun — one page in a long novel open
to reveal a plot which is a snippet of
time — a snippet of a man found near
railway tracks watching a receding train
agitate Queen Anne’s Lace, kick up dust.

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