March
I-10 Burnt Well Rest Stop, Arizona
It was a delicate darkness that night,
made so by the aroma of the day’s rain
that flavored the air and settled in puddles.
At the rest stop, a chilly desert breeze
brushed across our faces, momentarily flirtatious,
then continued twisting around the cacti,
flowing through mesquites and palo verdes
until it finally located and swirled around
a patch of ground like a dog that walks
in circles before lying down to fall asleep.
From: How We Wander:
Short Poems in 75 Words or Less
Unpub. MS p. 43
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