by Leonard M Hawkes

More Dust,
Roseless-beige powder,
Windtossed, free;
Part of breath,
Part of me.

Here by the lake
Mixed with coarser
Brother sand;
Lapped continuously
To more solid land.

But behind
On the North Hill,
Mother stone there
Births yet more graules
Anxious for air.


Author's Note: Loll is a dust-bowl in the dry times.

Posted on 08/26/2002
Copyright © 2021 Leonard M Hawkes

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