The Mirage

Concentrating, staring dead at
the mirage
it started to dissipate and become
desert floor, sandiness for milesI began to walk
as a child
excitedly pointing out the saguaro, ocotillo
you did not respond

Grabbing at your sleeve
I missed
but pointed to the mountains in the distance

My rambled words
matched tumbleweeds
blowing past us
You never spoke

The illusion was mine
not yours
and when the dust devil blew past
you were gone

Published by Adam

Adam F. C. Fletcher helps organizations engage people more successfully. Contact him by calling (360) 489-9680 or emailing

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