“Welcome to the desert of the real.”
–Morpheaus, from the movie, The Matrix
An ever-drying aridity. Step after step across a desert stretching to the horizon. Only the memory of water.
Such an exhaustion that the expression “dead on my feet” is a declaration of enthusiasm. Here, in the heart of the desert, words come as easily as the precious drops acrued on a solar sill.
Yet the only way out is through…
winter wind
the last patch of
dying grass
I’m hosting dVerse Poets’ Haibun Monday, where we’re writing about heart.
The pub is open! Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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