.
Spinning fast down a narrow
track that clings to the
tenuous layer of thin existence
balanced finely
between the infinity of
hot blue sky and the
vast plain of slippery
golden sand dissolving under the
burden of a relentless
sun,
two kilometers east of
The Tree
(the only
Tree):
two foxes.
.
They heard
us coming.
As we rose over the shimmering
curvature of horizon
they ran
ripping
twin dust clouds off the
broad surface
of the planet, cutting
thin trails through the
interminable heat to
disappear
over the slow
curvature of the earth’s edge
south
.
toward
nothing.
.
Just sand.
orphan poems 