Sonoran season

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

Advertisements

14 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s