aftersongs by daily rituals

the desert weaved dust into our hair,
grateful for our passing company.
punctuates the dashboard with salt and dry rhythm -
mirrored in the empty land.

now we keep the signs of early darkness
in the unswept places of our homes.
not the door but the path
inward - careless in the way it is unending.

when will we join the packs of wild dogs?
that under dusk roam the distant suburbs -
that plunge directly into highways
and are suddenly quieted.