A friend writes, in Texas
it is nearly a hundred & fifty
degrees in the shade. There’s been
almost no rain all spring & plants
are dying; while in January, in Ain
Sefra, snow fell on the sands
of the Sahara for two days. Burnt
orange sand flecked with white
like a creamsicle, while in Baguio
there’s no way to completely dry
laundry as rains pour as if
without end, & streets fill
with floodwater. Once we saw one
swallow after another emerge
from somewhere along the edge
of a train track— a nest,
improbably, beneath the constant
rumble of wheels. The station clock
chimes the noon hour, when shadows
disappear and its two hands come
together as if in prayer.
[LAG-other-response url=” https://www.vianegativa.us/2018/07/bourbonic/” title=”Via Negativa: Bourbonic”]