The Great Sand Dunes

Backtracking along the slender slopes impossible to climb,

except for those who slosh their way 900 feet to the top.

We can dump our shoes a thousand times and only pile the dunes higher

and deeper as the winds grow over the flaming range.

The sand, a young girl, and I are everywhere stung,

without high-blown backs of waves

breaking the mountainous dust of our days as we crouch in balls

as small as we can make ourselves, cowled

in whatever clothing we can find. One of us weeps.

There will be no more sea in the world

to come, no release for our dry throats in the new Heaven

and new earth, for the first has passed away.

Notice the smoke on the mountain,

how the salamanders cover the crags in their haste

to the end of the lightning bolt, the promise that the world will end in a flash,

turned to heat, and the great sand dunes will turn to glass.