Delirious Sweat...

my mother’s eyes might watch or
my father’s fingers might touch
scratch their dogs’ bellies,
the whole place is a thirst-

desert’s hot sky
salt crystals with nothing more to bite
the who/what/where/when/why
the riots of moths

never to be suckled
des(perate) figures hurling each other up;
to see but not be seen
sinks in a soil of doubt.

(the sky seem busy)
sands are tugging
that ants had amassed
desert, more than anywhere!