June 20, 2014


At the airport 
I collect our guests,
on their first trip
way out west,
with its lizards, 
strange birds, 
howling coyote.

They'll feel
sand blowing
against their skin,
heat spiking
in the afternoon, 
like a fever
about to break,
learn how plunging   
into the pool
is the best move
they can make.

I drive them homeward,
the road shimmering
up ahead.
Each one asks
about the heat,
revealing a certain dread.
Don't worry so much, I say;
it will engulf you,
like the wind,
until finally, quenched,
you will emerge, inured,
forged into something new.
Just ask anyone you meet;
they know the change 
you're going through.