Sandstorms

I once strode a desert trail
as it wound between the dunes,
but the sand was picked up by the winds
to dance before the moon.

It all began with a song
that called me from my hollow-
a whistle rang
then soothed into gentle hums
which beckoned me to follow.

We flew past the trees
as the winds made the leaves plead
and scream,
and over the bridge
where the river was pounding and roaring
like a child in desperate need for attention.
We went through the meadows
where the grass was flowing violently
like an ocean’s tide in a storm,
then into the desert
where a trail of sand rolled
in a clean, winding formation.

Then the moon showed herself to us that night.

And-
Before the moon,
before myself- each grain then came to life.
Then by her great behest
they began receding and advancing like
some formidable, heavenly breath.

They speared and whipped,
they bit at my flesh,
they thickened and thinned,
they calmed and then…

They took new pattern;
another path grew
beyond my sight
into the great dark blue.
They unspooled before me,
they stretched beyond horizon,
into new unknowns
that had revealed itself to my eyes, and
my eyes alone.

I tried to continue upon my path,
to join them in the sky.
I was tried and found unworthy
and the storm swallowed me alive.

I once strode a desert trail
as it wound between the dunes,
but the sand was picked up by the winds
to dance before the moon.

It all began with a song
that called me from my hollow-
a whistle rang
then soothed into gentle hums
which whispered not to follow.