There is a logic of water

in the absence of it.

 

In this land of merciless

sun, a dream meanders

 

itself into a bone-dry

alley-way with a sliver

 

of turquoise sky above.

When the wind howls here,

 

hikers are pelted

with the remnants

 

of the volcanic walls

they pass through.

 

Their heads turned down

in supplication, they see

 

only the sand they walk

over, their boots and legs

 

gritty with ash. Their hot faces

burnished to a shine, renewed.