vanishing, apparition burning upon the birth in a final scene: breathing to dying; and now nothing is visible, vines twist, a stain in the moon-eye, crisscrossing your babies and opus tragedies; it’s the brute, it’s the face of windows eyed with soot gaze pure ash; there is nothing more than flesh and bone filling with dust around the trees; identical to working hands in dirty dust it will be home upon the fields, and I was only in the messianic eyes twitching, as air is eaten from me as silhouettes dance, hands dressing in red; I close my eyes somehow still breathing as cold-blooded a miracle years on. © 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a poem incorporating setting (specific or descriptive).
I wrote this about the Dust Bowl, while listening to Straightline by Pete Bernard. I always associated that song with the Dust Bowl especially with some of the lyrics.