The Desert Wind
There’s an eastern wind from the desert
dry air into a big swirl.
The wind whispers a strange
melody, a discordant rhythm,
an odd rhyme, a pause that could delay
It is a song of surprise and suspense.
It is a song of sorrow and dread.
It stops our lives.
It steals our families from the hillsides.
It blows the fertile fields bone dry,
engulfs our hearts, and softens our hope.
It disrupts our sense of place
It burns the browns and greens,
the yellow of the golden reeds.
It moves along the sloping mountainside,
blowing embers along the foothills,
burning flakes of smoldering trees.
It crosses highways.
It sparks old memories.
Flames that soar so high, it seems to touch
the roof of the sky.
We never know which way the wind
will head. We never know how fast or slow.
The fire is unleashed, set free.
A spirit that travels on its own accord.
Mark Tulin is a former family therapist who lives in Santa Barbara, California. He often finds richness in the lives of the neglected and disenfranchised. He has a poetry chapbook, Magical Yogis, published by Prolific Press (2017). His work appears in Vita Brevis, Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, smokebox, and Cabinet of Heed. His website is .