Will Vincent


we are the dust-clouds
            the holders of knees
                    sliding down hills
         around yucca
  poppies growing wild

            we whoop and holler
                stuck      in our socks
we are kings of dunes
                                    and mountains

    we wage wars with riverbed moss
collect loquats
    in dented steel bowls
                   disperse seagulls
crack open sand dollars
          whistle    and snap

pierce dust devils
           on blue bikes
                  swirl oak leaves
                glance up at the red sun

we sprint through plowed fields
    and empty vineyards
               fat moon
                         lazy     on the horizon
sees     we might end up
                  swilling wine    sitting
where we’re supposed to run
  on the hard sand
                              by the sea