Shaha Bluffs

Like irony-flint
my feet strike, crumbling
chalky, arid clay

The din below, claws at ears;
Industrial Metal pipes pound on
vaporous streets, it assails

Resounding echoes
hit sepia walls, bouncing
in white hot mid-day sun

The babel fades in desert wind
a rustling symphony begins and
nature’s song, hidden in sage

takes centre stage
and I take the time
to breath
By Lynne Guay

M.M. Lynne Guay (c) 2012-06-10