Clouds of Saharan red dust,
sediment of Cretaceous seas,
now swarming over the Atlantic
and settling on Mexico…
Where a young man at a fútbol match in Monterrey
rubs his irritated eyes
and lifts his cellphone assembled in China
to post a picture on Instagram…
Which is seen by a girl standing on a beach in Iceland,
its current warmed by the Gulf Stream
from half a planet away.
She turns to wave at her father,
who smiles and lifts his thermos
filled with ancient glacial water.
Clouds of Saharan red dust…
and the air we breathe could be remnants from Caesar’s last gasp
or the final exhalation of Jesus.
And the constellations that grace deep space
are the same seen by Cleopatra,
and slaves in Confederate fields,
and our ancestors from Olduvai Gorge
when they lifted their faces to the heavens.
Clouds of Saharan red dust…
relentless, sifting, covering everything
like silt in the Marianas Trench
or snow atop Mt. Everest
or vines on a Mayan stela
still undiscovered in a primeval forest.
Krin Van Tatenhove - Reflections on the Journey 
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Krin: I’m really enthused here–your poems amazing!!! You do a terrific job of giving the reader a visual handle to grab. Also, your words have a beautiful verbal flow–no clashing consonants. (By the way. this is Barney from the gym). Your poems show an almost cosmic breadth of knowledge and an ocean-deep depth of understanding. I’m really glad to discover what lies behind the guy on the treadmill with the funny hat. I normally don’t care for long poems, but yours are long and economical at the same time–just amazing. As a poet you take a back seat to no-one.
Thanks, Barney, I’m glad you enjoyed them. When can I seem some of yours? Still wearing my funny hat…
Krin:
I’ll send a few in an email attachment early next week. Lots going on here in the runup to NY eve.