PASSING THROUGH

Into the desert.

Road signs peppered like a

wasteland war.

The air is solid with evenings

coolness stepping in.

Jack rabbits feet sing out an

escape, hoping for luck.

A lunar terrain, scattered

with hungry plants and

starving weeds.

 

The sun fell into a distant

comfortable corner.

Stars hold their distance,

offering an occasional blink.

People write about the desert.

Few visit. Some stay when their

heart tells them to.

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