The wind whistles past my ear drums and
I am surrounded by green wind chimes,
it seems.
Crack, crack, rustle.
and a pile of fake animal bones.
Climb on them,
to the very top until the world is yours and you can see all the way back to the beginning.
Elephant Graveyard.
Four babies that bathe in the dirt and breathe in
white life.
Blue for you and you and you.
But not you.
Brown. Odd one out.
Come lie on the chests of
almost mothers and
fall into darkness.
The epitome of beauty is to relive the dust bowl?
I suppose to
the plaid men it is.
But not the depression or the
black and white photographs.
Lightning flashes inside green
canvas and
five girls scream with glee
and two girls' recognition
brings deathless happiness.
And with glee, fight back the urge to run a marathon.
To run home.
To run through dust and sage brush
and dung and
dry dry dry.
Eyes watering for lush green
in this,
the epitome of beauty.