West Texas

My favorite part of the day
Is when the sounds of city fade,
Deep in the country of Texas.

When the oven heat
That turned the ground brittle,
Like toast,
Has cooled just enough to breath.

I like to take off my shoes
And run my toes in the dirt -
Dry, brittle, little crumbs of dirt.
For underneath, having awaited all day,
Is the cool, refreshing ice,
Of soft, sugar like sand.

A wind howls by in a painful moan,
Even he cannot escape the heat.
He bring with him,
A dry, dusty taste.
That laughs upon my tongue.
For there is no water to get it out.

A joyful day when I feel the grass,
Desperately trying to grow.
Her hair is soft with prickled tips,
That died to fast to know,
The cool of summer rain.

A dog barks slowly,
Far away from me,
A warning of a coyote,
Or a fluffy twitching rabbit,
Who met a natures fate.

Sound is magnified,
Though it labored in the heat,
Touch is something desperate,
When all things try to melt,
Taste is not necessary,
For the dust never seems to leave,
And all I can smell
Is oil and cows,
Blowing their way past me.

My favorite part of the day
Is when the sounds of city fade,
Deep in the country of Texas.