
Is that the dusty wind
that from West has blown?
From places turbulent and forlorn it comes.
My mood darkens as the
sky is thus obscured.
Dust, my dry nostrils fill.
Sand gets in my eyes.
So fine is the powder, that I cannot block
its bite, no matter how
I might dodge or try.
Lord, let this wind die down.
Let the sun return.
I would rather sweat and have a sunburned face,
than my mouth filled with sand.
Lord, it’s in your hand.
Padre
CARROT RODEO #2: DOUBLE ENNEAD SYLLABIC POETRY
‘is blown from the sky’ from “The Springtime Plains,” by Charles Badger Clark