Striving for the surface breeze

From the rich black soil,

To feel my lungs expand

With bottomless greed

–

On the brittle surface

I will gladly surrender

To exhaustion’s charms

And fevered illusions

–

Clawing back to the surface

Where a desert wind mourns

Full of thistle and sand

To find refuge in its wrath

–

To find refuge

Braced for a hurricane of stones

Above a century of decay

In the earth’s narrow caverns