She thought she was falling

apart into landscape

unfamiliar and strange.

Not what she wanted but

some breaking open with no

way to breathe in

open air, open sky.

How, how to navigate

through desert, where

wandering in any

direction makes little

difference to change.

Come, rain!

Come, storm!

She drifts, drifts in

a place both too large

and too loud

and too bleak and

too small and fails

fails to recognize

her own voice.

Do you know it?

Do you hear it?

she asks.

In the desert place

where turning

turning

becomes habitual,

consequential, instinctual.

Sand in her heart and

her eyes.

—jennifer j. camp