Death Valley
Hot winds sweep over desert floor
on a dry lake, at Death Valley’s door
I walk the salty, white washed sand
feeling small in this searing land.
Herein lies Bad Water, hot and disheveled
a barren wilderness below sea level
near Furnace Creek, home of the devil.
Pioneers mined silver in this place
every breath, survival; after death, erased.
Dystopian shapes ripple and rise
skewing reality, hallucinatory surprise
caught within desert’s blistering heat
blurring the mountains in retreat.
I feel a crackling in my bones
I can hear past cries and moans
stark air penetrates my very being
my skin bakes in sun scorched steam.
Horizon spirit reigns from on high
breathing life into vast blue skies
cumulus clouds stand dominant and varied
now they turn stormy, dark and wary.
Layers of sand dunes rise like stiles
tall pyramids expand for miles
moving and drifting in waves and spires
lizards retreat from heat and exhale fire.
I leave my footprints on the dunes
passing sagebrush at high noon
shrinking shrubs will soon dry out
tumbleweeds will fly about
then blow away, just like me
into oblivion and feeling free.
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