At Some Point

Some day,
I think you’ll know my heart.
You’ll pick up the folder, book, journal
and break your heart
like the ice forming outside,
(At least this sheet)

You’ll know
how hurt I was when forgotten
when i was secondary
to life in general
the show,
phone call.

at this point,
i am gone
a scratch of ink lines
stretching a word to a thought,
into a strange passion,
you’ve never read.

Dave Barber
Albuquerque, New Mexico
United States

Desert Poem

Windprint on the clear face soothes man’s mark
Mirror patterns of nature’s art.

We climb in order to survey
And at each brow
Another dune ascends
Nature mocks our miniature attempts.

Shapes of hip and cheek and brow
The endless line twixt sky and sand.

Mind and lungs expand
To meet the stretch of desert space
Ripples to land’s end.

Samantha Burns
Salalah
Oman