Hannah dances

in the back of his

thirsty mind.

Head bare in the sun

as she moves 

swivel-hipped

to a tune he can’t

quite remember.

Humming to herself and

watching the dust dance

around her pretty feet.

Dark eyes flash lies 

and her tanned thighs

are strong and sinuous.

She laughs to herself

as she dances in the

lonely desert of

a man’s dry heart.

Moves in the corners

of eyes better suited

to staring through

heat haze at distant

horizon lines.

Where ghost cattle

walk knee deep

in phantom water.

Where the  

promise of

tomorrow

is lost inside the

truth of today.

Reality is

a man

a horse

a dog.

A long way home.

reprinted from the collection, Dry Bones, by John Holland.