Mesquite Dunes

The sun has set behind the Panamint Mountains
Before me are a pair of well-worn shoes,
A blanket,
The finest sand eons ever created,
Just this side of fairy dust
Outside of Stovetop Wells
Having chewed on the lord’s finest blue veined mushrooms.
The moon, did I say that it was full, arisen
The sand still fine
People speaking foreign languages disappearing
Those picnicking by the light of the moon gone back to their rental vans
Children no longer somersaulting down sand dunes
Outside Badwater the lowest point on the continent
And the Artists’ Palatte
Where god glorifies form and color.
Perhaps a memory here
Three years old
Wanting mother to know as much about me
And my needs and limits
As I knew of hers.
Perhaps a beautiful woman
Perhaps a distant auto slowing
There was a sign down a way,
Obviously placed there for me.
It read, Restoration in Process

Only there was nothing needing restoring

And then I was again alone.