By the Black Desert

 

Before the dunes, savage

arugula stretched in fields

across a bed of crusted clay and rock.

 

Wind erased my tracks from each crest

by the time I’d reached the next rise.

What else did I expect?

 

Each morning, the Sahara

unfolded golden wings

for me, for wanderers, for no one.

 

For anyone there to notice.

Never time enough to feel

like I belonged wherever I was.

 

Lush arugula ripe for the picking.

Desert weed. Nobody would eat that.

Too wild, too strong.