Blind Curves

A flat self you are, of  springing cactus and sand
The sky meets the sand of earth in the distance.
You see a curve of a sand dune and a gray camel
Its hump delicately poised on the earth-sky line.
That is where the parched water is stored for you
In  journey to carry your flatness through curves.

A curve dangerously close to  heart, springs from
A body ,soft in contours of  midsummer madness
And turns a pain in  knuckles, a lump in the throat.
These  are dunes with no eyelashes that save you
From a sandstorm,  from their sandy distortions.
They feel like contortions of a body racked in pain
Rooted as you are  in the physicality of  existence.