Poem by Poet Hound

Kilbourn Hole

Making love to sand
sifting away in dreams,
the sweaty breath of
salt baking, left over
from oceans
long since receded.

Sweat picks up all grains
grinding against the sunburned
skin- the sun marking its territory
in the deserts of New Mexico.

Sandals slide in dust,
shoes gather grains
in the toes, the desert
spreads itself farther
into homes, houses of
musty memories.

The desert is never
as forsaken as
the romantic writers
would have you believe.