southwestern sandstorms
spinning & twisting
transporting sacred ground
high into the heavens
as if to appease
a hungry god
unsuspecting clouds
become sated by earth & essence
drifting north by northeast
gaining strength along the way
like a waxing gibbous
about to explode
march two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It must have been around ten o’clock
at night on Christmas Eve
and I was staring out the small
north facing window at the end of my bed
What are you doing my brother asked
I’m looking out for Santa Claus I said
Oh little man number one he’s not gonna be
here for hours & number two he won’t step
foot in this house unless he knows everyone
inside is fast asleep
I remember crawling back under the covers
thinking how my brother must be full of shit
wondering how in the world I could ever
possibly fall to sleep
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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