Cranes

By
Mid-day. Bare sky.
Cranes and other vehicles
lift up a dust storm at the airport.
They trek on through it,
looking bulky on the flat expanse of ground.
I stare for a moment longer in the blistering heat
and drive on.
My thoughts race.
Again an insect hits the windshield and bursts open.

The city is an island, an arid desert.
It is a separate entity.
Humans can't fly or lift up high,
so we create airplanes
and skyscrapers as far as the eye can see.
But the city's still surrounded.
Beyond its edge are stranger birds
and mountains, nature's own skyscrapers
that reach up like certain towers tried to do
and raze the very blue of heaven
more perfectly.





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