11/05/2022
You might’ve thought dunes—
it’s not that type of desert.
White sands keep their place
up in New Mexico, but only
their lonesome place.
Wind whips up the silent
southwest corner; our island
on this vast, heaving continent.
Old ghosts float and haunt
the northern pass.
Something started down by
ancestral pueblos,
creeping up through time
and embedding into flesh.
A mark was made.
We were delivered into bondage
by sins that were not ours.
We bore crosses which
Weren’t ours to bear.
Now I understand original sin.