the wind is blowing
the air is dry and dust
lying on the table top is on my hands
gritty
and the brown tree crackles in the wind
leaves scattered in pieces in my hair
dust from the ground blowing
and the taste of sand in my mouth
and in my eyes nothing but open spaces
and I lying there not quite ready
to crumble up, shrivel and dry
to blow away on the wind
no, lying there battered
- and torn, abraded with life and dust
wishing I could see from any wound flow
just one drop of blood
to tell me if there's any life left to lose