Tumble dry

There is the tumbleweed
which gathers at its seams
the dust and particles from the wind
and from the path it sees.
It roasts beneath the sun
and crumbles from the rain
and as it passes floaters by
it finds the richest seas.
The deserts waves and dunes
that fold into themselves
capture the weeds in its billowy comforter.
It skips and pops and rolls
down the unpaved roads of sand
and the forgotten caress of winds
which long since have passed.
Cry out to me oh tumbleweed
dont leave me out and dry
like your skeletal frame!
id love to wrap you in my arms and sooth your coarse sad bristles.
the weeds once soft fresh from the ground
have they frightened you so?
how the warmth caused you to grow
such salt.