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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4246 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Sirocco beautyseer One rainless February night – our sliding windows open to a long dark, a pane-rattling, dessicating, westering Santa Ana wind – trees and bushes out there "shush" as if sleds in an impossible snow. Bend low toward the West, gasp and writhe fantastically, leaves stirred to alarm, a rattler gathering to strike, yet first recoiling away from these desert blasts turned toward the sea. And we, inside, bare on our bed roll like some restless, buckled dry lake – or better yet, bits of debris caught in the street, drawn back and driven against a curb again, again. Too late the wind sighs breathless, urgent. in our broken dreams, whispers all moon vowels. Half-conscious, we throw off covers, pull them back over us. At the darkest chiming stare out at the rectangled sky, uncertain whether we wish to shut the sliding pane against blown dust from scoured desert flats or open it ever wider to new, untamed coyote air. |
