We stir up sand running at speed to climb
clouds towards a milky galaxy
we’ve labeled the ethereal Heaven.  
Yet what do we use to achieve our goal,
but plastic supplies stored in polyester bags.

Eternally, we remain ill-equipped 
to face the ex-wife
when we keep fingers laced with her abuser.

Man-made madness 
so consumes reality
that we think it necessary
in order to visit 
our birth-mother

(with his permission). 

We capture pretty landscapes in photographs 
viewed through glass lenses,
no longer welcome
to dwell in those windswept meadows. 

Bottling up constellations, 
holding fast to dreams in telescopes —
yet we never transcend beyond eyes. 

A sirocco, a tornado, a typhoon whips around 
the false caves we hide in, 
threatening us that we cannot hide. 

Abuse from the abused:
branches mirror roots.

Trembling victims
long to see the face behind the attributed acts of god
with layers of clothing and blankets and bug spray
but still

naked and afraid. 
No fur for true warmth. 

Wherever we trek, 
we shall never again be 

naked and brave. 
We imagine specks of sand as stars. 

One day, we pray, our inner fire will impel 
Sahara high past the sky, with our own essence: 
a new nebula of stardust traversing the universe.
Minds no more tied to self-inflicted bodies.

Silver winner of this contest: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2831192-National-Poetry-Month-April-27th-noguest