dust devils, dust storms in miniature or dry land-bound tornadoes in miniature, form on the sides of isolated roads, in the height of the day, seemingly at random .. our dispositions are braced for unexpected disturbances .. yet on sunny & steady days, for a moment, the sudden updraft of air, touches ground creating a swirl, a swirl of dirt & of sound ..
yet, though, our dispositions are braced for unexpected turbulences ..
at night we could dream of oceans, surrounding waves, the inability to stand, inaccurate touch, soggy speech & the loss of audio precision & the loss of balance .. when awake, at day, in the persistent light of summer, we convince ourselves of no such matters & imagine waves that would morph into grasses .. then we could travel to the land where there are such foaming grasses ..
on foot into desert high desert meadows, we are silently alert, with grazing lands at the knees; & so there, & surely there are physical waves to be touched ..
the soil between our hands, which we had to buy to integrate within the uncooperative top-soil of our high desert, has a cool temperature, muscular musk & consists of silky clumps .. in exchange for the simple planting of native grasses & the strategic placement of rocks & some ground cover, we ache in new ways ..
and we connect; yet how, we cannot understand, yet we connect & in new ways ..
CHECK THIS OUT >>> an audio reading of a poem: