Radiate outwards in countless dunes
Lifting scorched badlands, built by decades
Of changing weather and threatening skies.
This covering has served me well.
Wrestling with childhood friends,
Embracing faintly removed lovers,
Holding incinerated remains
Waiting to rest with stars.
My fingertips follow their paths,
Circling endlessly in the plain
Between elbow and wrist –
A line for everyone.
This article appears in Clearing the Marsh.