Scrub cedar scratches across caliche
to West Dutch Woman Draw where something that
must have been like water running once cut
a line on the hard surface for roots that
make their way down to what’s left of it.
Wind picks up where sand does, keeps it moving
while I keep an eye on the horizon hoping
for mountains. Pull over, step out of the car,
you’d think you could fly. Most everything
does in this wind if it’s not tied down, so
I keep my mind on keeping my feet on
the ground, wonder if the guy driving
the big rig west with an oversized load
wishes he’d waited a day or two, stay
awake by doing what the sign says.
Watch for water. And when it says
Chance of flash floods,
I calculate the odds.