Buried almost up to your head in sand
just a hand full of white blossoms poking out.
A dust devil in the wilderness
whipping up the masses when you don’t have spit.
All hot sand and dry air.
Dried, cracked and sectioned like so much carrot cake
but it’s orange mud and not all that tasty.
Terraced
Raising the heart of the land up to the open air
so that it may breathe and feed us.
Tags: April, desert, devil, dust devil, free verse, National, National Poetry, National Poetry Month, poem, poetry, sand
