Between Sun and Sand

Mary Crescenzo

In and of itself, the market is not, and must not become,

the place where the strong 

Limbo, the weight of neither here nor there,

bears whispers of what we keep and what we discard.

Remnants of souls rise among foreclosures

in vast tracks of land now riddled with ghost towns.

As we look away, those who have nothing and

those who have more than they need press on

like the zombies in The Night of The Living

Dead: we are all on the move, on the march.