Jam Band Purist
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February 25th, 2018

2/25/2018

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Picture
Unsettling Dust
 
The open sun,
flares its fingers,
grasping my skin.
Stinging it red.
 
Dusted cowboy boots,
kick up clouds;
which settle,
after I’m gone.
 
There is no end
to this roam.
I will always be
dust but never
settling after
I’m gone.


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    Original Poetry and Travel Writing.

    R.A. Fadley

    Original Poetry and Travel Writing.

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