Miasma

A miasma in my hometown:

Clouds of sick, shuddering, red opalescence;
Arms of velvet dust whip and lick in the wind

My arms as wrappings for my head.
 Clamp my ears, shield my eyes.
A choir of retching, spasm, heaving and then convulsing.

In my cave of arms and cloth, in spite of myself; a smile, a laugh.
Cracked lips split; a grimace.
Thudding muscles behind the eyes seize
Air caught in my throat
Coughing, Phlegm, Dust

Water.
Get to the water.