Out

The dust rises to the glamor of the wind,

I want to say diaphanous, I want to say hello.
This season is green but as flat as a
photograph.  I remember the dust devils
marching off the wall of the mesa strung
together like ballerinas, a determined violence.
The sun has clotted the salt of my eyes into
a crystalline glare.  I see auras of light
shifting red and blue.  You are moving in glory,
your howl will find me long after
you have come and gone.

.