- Less

A new splinter on the ground
leads to the foothill,
a precipice on the top
and a drop at the bottom.
Dusk sets on the desert;
billows of hot air
grow from the shattered earth.
Breathless,
windless,
and timeless,
a crown of dust circles his head.
Gasping,
he waits for someone.
His putrid hands
are swollen with emptiness.
Nothing creeps
but the Sun
and when darkness looms
he lays helpless
wishing the thin air
would let him collapse.