CARAVAN OF SALT Poem by Tomas Lieske

A caravan of salt has vanished. Much like
a girl of fourteen might well vanish. Forever
they kept walking, the camels passing through
the eye. The riders of the animals had been
reduced by their desire for purity to an
impossible reunion and were lost between
the grains of sand. At least in the eye
of the camels, as they felt enlarged,
and merged into swaying star ships, huge
enough to fill the sky; they rose transparently.
Their grass-whistling breath froze into galaxies.
A caravan vanished, just the salt
flew up in clouds, was found all around.

Much like a girl of fourteen. Her socks
with round-eared bears, but born
to vanish into a night-time sky.
Hasn't had a period yet, but pregnant
with a miracle: the salt, all that salt.
A room that will remain unfinished;
a road to school with places to alight;
a final train, an inadvertent station, the salt
of an old shirt that lay beside the shoe polish.
There's post each day, but never a message;
a sudden face among the masses in a strange city:
all those wounds, the whistling breath over a phone,
her star ship hanging against the walls.