x. ghost in our wake
i sold my soul to dust devils, darling.
you would too, if you knew how we live
on their mercy. they are indifferent to our every word
but hungry for our breath, ready to steal it
and twist us into desert storms.
you know what they say about the wind out here:
it doesn’t ever die. sometimes it haunts you
and sometimes it’s gone, and that’s when
it watches you most. sometimes it rises
even when you pray for it not to, but you cannot tell
the wind to quell its hunger any easier
than i can tell you to listen to my wildfire warnings.
if you’d been looking in the rearview mirror,
you could have seen your long-lost heart, or even
a spark that was closer than it appeared in the glass.
