engulfed

It smells salty
like the ocean
and french fries-
both scents mingling
in the muggy breeze

birds chirp incessantly
as if they could procure rain
by sheer desire and volume.

angry motorcyclists
and impatient drivers
roar past tired workers:
just trying to get home.

a film of dust
gives everything a gritty perspective,
even the clouds resemble sandpaper.

things. just things.
I notice them
as my heart ponders
people and the intangible.

I wonder if my spirit
sees through a film of dust also
and how sandpapered down
my conscience is.

I wonder if the ache of missing
what can never be fulfilled here
compares to the bird's longing for rain.

If I could reach beyond this haze
and find You,
I wonder, would You look like
the people You've already placed
right in front of me?

When the sun sets
and I can no longer
see, or feel, or hear-
there- will I find peace?

It's difficult to walk
in the sand.
Be my Rock
and carry me.

there are drums
in the distance.
Please come quickly.