Once while travelling on a dusty plain
​Breeze blew the dust ahead of me
​​Swirling into the shape of a man
​
​Who stood curiously for a moment
​His form gazing long and deeply into me​
As I stared back into his featureless face​

​Which seemed to soften as it filled​
​Before his body shifted to ​a striding sway
​And he began into a flowing dance

​​Dancing on the wind
​Or maybe the wind dancing him
​Or the dance already present here
​Made visible 

​​I stood there planted in my place
​As my feet became a mountain range
​For churning rivers of stones to flow 
​Over and between​
​
​And my hands were long dead branches
​Reaching out like twisted tendrils
​​​As he was delicately dancing
​For a dry and hollow tree

​So sweet was the beauty of the dance 
​Tears streamed down from my eyes
​Flooding the valleys beneath
​Softening and nourishing the thirsty soil
​
​Until the road we stood was soaked through
​Sloshing mud that drank its way up through his legs
​
​And he slowed and slowed and down onto to his knees
As the wind died away and the dust cleared​
And the sky above us broke with rain
​​​​​One last flicker of a glance and he was gone
​​And so were the dry and dusty plains
​