Chamsin (1972-73)


by Marc Mangel


Tiny weeds of sand floating in from above and below

floating and landing and seeding for others to

come until they cover like a gentle and soft

snow that quietly blankets the country

at night.

Certainly better than a blizzard of sand burning

and choking and tearing the

esophagus until our mucus is like mud.

Peaceful bundles of sand so small as to be barely

seen yet each the home of a billion molecules

which probably want to be there even less

than you want them to

yet what can be done

peaceful bundles alighting everywhere in such

secrecy that until inspection they remain


slightly colored they change the face of each encounter

records once black now ting brown and

brown now browner or less brown like a

magic powder that chamelions use


And taking the sand moving the sand

is the warming wind


everywhere as it deposits the sand and

goes back for more

the wind each tree despises

and each man curses

the wind that is life and death and it is

breath but breath that chokes

for once the wind has too died the

soft sand remains




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