Twists of Air
Have
turned date palms
Into
dancers, shivering
Half-dressed
through cracks of light.
We
survey dust
In
its scattered particles;
In
twirls across the land;
Small
things have purpose, too;
These
things that never rest.
If
the winds stop, we would miss
The
clouds giving our daydreams life:
The
kings and lions that hover above.
O
how we wish we had a ticket
To
go with them, floating away
Like
fish and beggars.
-- C.S. Cholas, 1 April 1984
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