By: Jordan Almond

The wind moved one strand of hair
Across her face at a time.
Grains of red sand fly over the earth,
Flitting through the hot air.
Vast. Ancient.
She lay spread over the land eyes to the sky.
Heart open.
One grain of sand in her hand,
She maintained her
Ground level perspective.
The earth shifted.
A shudder.
The grain took wing.
Again, a reflection in
The hawk’s eye.
New levels and
A prospective perspective.
She exhaled. Slow and long.
Sunrise strands sweeping
And languid.
Oh, the way that red sand burns in his eyes.
Good burn.
Good tears.
I can feel that sand on the tips of his fingers.
It gets in his clothes. Lingers.
And it is always with me.
That dull ache reminding constantly of the struggle.
The truth.
Light in the moon’s dark side