The sandstone edge beneath my feet is floury dust,
that’s craving only water.
I tighten the weak muscles in my core,
hoping to stay strong and
hoping I lose my footing.
In the summer it was firm.
The sun ran through my blonde hair,
and past the curves in my skin.
My shoulders were soft and I dressed in carnation,
billowing and light.
A hot breeze caught beneath my wing,
and placed my toes centred on the lip.
It’s getting cold now and,
the leaves are turning.
They slice back and forth as they fall off the trees,
the wind urging their ears.
Forcing them into sticky black corners
where they will fade to brown and begin rotting.
The precipitation threatens paralyzation.
Heavy clouds will fire off ice bullets,
forcing the earth to dance.