2009 by Nate Maxson

Tornado sirens wait for the wind they warn against

It’s symbiotic, they sing to stop what makes them sing

But I am not listening

To that rising hum from without

Parasite noise over cities cobbled from dust and heat

I remember the way you moved in a light May rain, steam rising off your blue umbrella

and shining condensation on blond hair like parched grass trying to drink

Sometimes I see graffiti on the plywood shells of houses being built and I assume they’re just

left inside the finished product, markers for an unknown purpose

Quiet and free for a moment

The names

Swallowed up by hours

We become our own ghosts

Where my youth peters out

As opposed to that element mysterium where the mountains gather rain

We know all about where the sky begins

No, it’s more that I’m always aware

That I could still follow

A trail of bones and guttered campfires across the desert

Like breadcrumbs left by an unknown caravan