Journal of Writing & Environment

There is a logic of water

in the absence of it.


In this land of merciless

sun, a dream meanders


itself into a bone-dry

alley-way with a sliver


of turquoise sky above.

When the wind howls here,


hikers are pelted

with the remnants


of the volcanic walls

they pass through.


Their heads turned down

in supplication, they see


only the sand they walk

over, their boots and legs


gritty with ash. Their hot faces

burnished to a shine, renewed.