DUST DEVIL RISING

It begins the way most awakenings do~  
quietly,  
a shiver in the sand  
no one else notices.

A dust devil lifts itself  
from the far edge of morning,  
a thin column of wandering breath  
gathering shape  
as if the desert were whispering,  
Now.  Now is the moment.

It spins slowly at first,  
testing its own edges,  
learning the language of motion  
after years of stillness.  
Then it rises~  
a small, determined spiral  
of grit and light,  
carrying the day’s first gold  
in its turning hands.

I watch it from the trail,  
feeling something in me  
answer its motion~  
the same something  
that once stirred behind a classroom window,  
restless as chalk dust,  
waiting for a wind  
strong enough to lift it.

The dust devil sways,  
leans into its own becoming,  
then spins brighter~  
a brief lantern of sand  
lit from within  
by the desert’s breath.

And I know:  
this is what it feels like  
when a long-sleeping dream  
finally stands up,  
shakes the years from its shoulders,  
and begins to move  
in its own wild, rightful direction.

The dust devil dissolves  
as softly as it formed,  
falling back into the earth  
like a story returning to silence.

But the air remembers.  
And so do I~ 
because something in me  
is rising too,  
carrying its own light  
into the widening day.

You may read the accompanying personal narrative at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/swirling_dervishes_13875

11th grade12th gradeinspirationalfree verse

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