Saturday, January 12, 2013

Shake the Dust

Shake the dust off your feet.
You have slept in the hollows of some damn unfriendly trees,
but how could you know that they were dead?
How could you know?

Wipe the sweat from your lip.
The storms you thought were chasing you
were being chased, your mind the center of two
strong and half-imagined winds—one hot, one very, very cold.

Let the cool breeze keep you.
Do not curse it and send it away.