Desert Poem by Gloria Kim
Desert
Desiccate, not dead.
A giant's vast hot canopy
whose simmering shimmering horizon
bellies up boulder silhouettes
and cacti.
A slow-baked earth
pending the hour of completion.
What subterranean yeasts rise
1000 degrees Celcius into the millennia?
To be this still!
Silent, aware, most powerfully
alive.
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5/7/2024 4:09:19 PM # 1.0.0.1119
