Poem October 2026

Like Windblown Sand

No favorite fictional character comes

to the forefront, though feature films

open doors to other places

open doors to other cuisine

open doors to other rhythms.

I do not long to list characters,

because some actors could be left off

like a burst of milkweed

like the last unpicked apple

like a raw peanut in the sun.

I imagine watching the films —

decades of them unwinding

and rewinding over and over again.

Who would not be remembered?

Would the name be streaming

on the wind like a movie?

Now I offer these lines

as an aching to know

before too many minutes tick away

like windblown sand.