The Dispersal of Dust
self-isolation
seeking solace
in a distant constellation
light dots of rain
along the empty pavement
ghost town
moving away
from my shadow
hurrying along
a dust devil
evening stroll
the dust blurs
my vision
low cloud morning
the cough of an engine
heavy breath
some foreign particles
dilute my blood
riding the ragged road
stone words on my chest
covid-19
a thousand stories
on the tip of my tongue
making a to do list
same as yesterday
windswept market
the small fingerprints
on each rack
dust dry wind
the rattle of seedpods
Hifsa Ashraf and John Hawkhead
Presence, issue #67
