|Against a cantaloupe sky
rise sculptures in rust:
ochre postpile columns of basalt,
impossible carved arches, brick-red
and stark, cliffs
the exact shade of sequoia bark
and eighty times as tall.
Kneeling, I touch
until the air stirs
suddenly, and I watch,
helpless and lost
as the wind whirls the dust up
all around me in the first
of a Martian sirocco,
higher and faster, obscuring
ground and rocks and sun
and the color orange.
|© Karawynn Long, 1991
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