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Dust Devil 

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The sky, not falling, is melting in-to-out, sliding molten glass about each

structure, each crevice.

Less than dust, layers of Pompeii's crust surround cells, membranes, eaves, gussets, seams, brachia, still unmoving beneath the weight,

sponge candy's entombment past merest pool of tar.

Show no need, rabbit under cover. Lie still. Neither move nor flee, kicking

up a trail, white flag bouncing a defined surrender through a darting escape.

—Carl Stoeckel

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