Because he dove feet-first in a dustdevil
The ground beneath him began to give way
Those bigger whirlwinds made their presence known
As names in plastic bags and things cast off, away
Slipped out and through his palms, his own
Voice escaped his teeth, said it would hurt coming down.

She envied the bird who struggled in the wind
And turned herself into a whisp of smoke,
That spun vortical inside his lungs
Somehow, he felt overwhelmed and her
Breath shaped the clay soul they shared;
Something to be hurt, something to be spared.

Not to break apart, they took up their arms
And their peace, and their dream of circles
Over nothing felt complete, so they
Could ask if they would dance or whenever
They would fall but this moment was helpless
To answer, if there was one at all.