The oldest wind of the Sonoran Desert
is also the youngest; stealthy, from newborn
to maturity in minutes, filling the sky sandy gray.
We watch it roar into our towns and cities,
a wall of dust infiltrating every opening
and crack around doors and windows.
Watch what it grabs and what it doesn’t;
a formless goliath that shoves us around,
yanks our clothing; ferocious and taloned,
it rips off branches and roofs.
Seemingly vengeful, it’s just wind and dirt,
nature so simple, yet so inescapable
is its grip on catastrophe.
From: Small Places, Big Places, Everywhere
Unpub. MS p. 5
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