Panic meridian
noon
shaves the desert
to angle
dune after dune
the horses
are stirring,
their eyes bald
calderas their bones
realigning,
rankling, rankling
horses,
riderless dust
on the skyline,
sires of
the grappling sand
no body
can tame them
Nice sharp poem, Mags. Meditative and primal tough at the same time. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteenough to make a camel spit
ReplyDeletethose lone and level sands
yes, sharp as a photograph, as the air itself
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