From a distance, it appears
unproductive, barren, desolate, sterile,
vast, endlessly open, its spaces
lonely, bare, infertile wastelands,
quiet, unexplored; the desert is patient,
a long drought,
a time of held breath, waiting,
high and dry, hoping for rain,
but life is here. Now.
In my recent poetry, the desert is a metaphor for aging. This is where I find myself.
Diverging from #dverse