Swirling dark, two questions

Cold wind rocks me wake 

camp flames whip

black desert

storms approach

horse and dog spooked

White veins skyward

light the world in grayscale

creatures, cactuses

stunned

beneath the flash

lashing dust gales

stubborn fire keeps itself alive

small victories

What could be the approaching thunder 

that is not thunder?

If trains existed yet

I’d bet a locomotive

bearing down

massive

in the darkness

my saddle raised from the ground

gone

next, the dog

swallowed by churning black

roaring wind

I wasn’t lifted

so much as exploded

backward by an uprooted

saguaro

If there were a god

it might have plucked me

from death

but if there were a god

what be that swirling dark?

,

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