DUNES

A swirling yellow skirt billows against 
gray mountain knees. The wind separates 
bits of mashed colors; dispatched, carried 
and dropped. Repeating the same route, 
the scientist's say, to land in the same home.

But some are huddling around a single line 
of gully flowers and some are digging 

grooves into shiny, pitted boulders. 
They must like the journey more when

home is flowers. Or knowing your work
of destruction leads to freedom.

Yes, there is the community of the curve. 
And to know daily flight, perhaps to have 
a small understanding with fate. I can almost 
see the dark edges of mystery in their
odyssey of days.