Ghosts of the Desert

Ghosts of the Desert

We leave the black top of pavement,
Our tires running swiftly through the dirt of the desert.
We are taking an old road,
One that winds and slithers,
One that is full of ups and downs;
Of potholes and rumbling uneven ground.
Behind us the dust twines and twirls low upon the ground in our wake.
It slithers away from us and our strangeness,
Falling and dispersing back into the desert from which it came.
These snakes of dust and air;
We disturb them with our swiftness and loudness which breaks so harshly upon their calm;
Upon their quiet.
They flee from our wheels,
And from our thoughts and memories, 
And they hiss before melting away,
“Our land,
Our land,
Our land.”