Spring 1985, Volume 2
Poetry

Helen Mar Cook
Dust Devils

In this land of limitless vision
and long silences
I hear and see a startling commotion.

dust is a devil racing around
wind is a witch whistling sound
whirling and winding over the flats
a circular motion curves lariats
whipping and ripping through the sage
an orbit of imps in a terrible rage
tumbling weeds high in the air
particles lifted Heaven knows where
spread through gullies with a thrust
turns to a little Hurry of dust

in whirlwinds of my mind
are other circles,
pioneer camps and wagon wheels
stampedes of buffalo
the roulette wheel
a cowboy hat
and the roundhouse
at the end of the line
ghosts spiral in the wind