Mirage

Frozen stiff in sweating
caught between the dust
one backward glance could mean the trick of heat
the trick of light, of belonging
of a swept away under the mistaken water life
a displaced image of a girl running to me
wearing her boots, laughing
of a wattle forest,
  under these trees two sisters,  a hair salon in this forest
looking up at imaginary snowflakes
combing my hair
this world is this moment
larger, above any backward glance on a shimmering road
revealing nothing.