Death Valley Dunes

I stand in awe of dunes that wander ‘cross the valley;
no photographic trick, no episode of Twilight Zone.
Myriad grains of sand determined to go walking,
urged on by arid breeze, Death Valley’s ambulating show.
Nothing impedes their way, no crop of rock nor cacti;
they wander to and fro beneath the sun and eyes of night.

They say Death Valley has no beginning;
a break of ruin paining the Earth.
There the sun seethes searing with no remorse;
(indeed death abides to run its callous course.)
But dunes walk as if tomorrow were fleeting;
they go from place to place with aplomb.
And in awe I stand as they pass me by
I have to say they take my breath away,
and I’ll admit, I even cry.
No mere moons (but on this Earth),
Death Valley dunes.

Okay they walk again and flow like they are liquid;
in stride they smoothly step, they are coordinated sand.
And now they seem to march in military cadence;
in red the valley basks yet dunes are living to align.
Upon the vacant plain I see hare and coyote;
yet they determine death exceeds their curiosity.

The valley once again becomes lifeless;
the rabbit and the wolf have gone home.
There is no more movement save for the sand;
(the wolf howls as mournful--I understand.)
Within air bereft of wet whatsoever,
among the lanced intent of the sun,
walking as if pride were their claim to fame
they cross the blistered desiccated land--
relentless movement their game.
Beyond mere moons (here on Earth),
Death Valley dunes.


34 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
10-20-14