The Sand Hills of Aiks

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                                                         Now they are
                                                         in the Range of Light again

The children                                                               
are out hunting valentines
                                                    along the swollen slopes
                                of decomposed granite

The sand is warm
                      in soft and sinking mounds
                               where the wind has sorted
 
                             into the nearer
                                    white and gray
                             like crushed
                        oyster shell

                                       and the farther
                                              yellow powder
                                   like pollen
                          or sulfur

Her head falling back                                            
toward the reflected light
                Pahn’s spoken words
                                                       push against her
 
                                                                                             into the air
                                                                                          of no resistance

resting in the felsitic grains                                  
of the range’s                      
knuckles
                                   intruding
frayed
                                                                                disintegrating
.

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