Saturday, February 5, 2011


Grit blew into my pores
so I quit dusting and became
the desert. Mountains scream
silent before wind and sand
chime a rooftop mantra:
I miss you anyway
I love you because.
Under the porch cover
I lean back to watch
Davis Mountains, purple
aberrations against bluest sky.
I will come to you
not for pleasantries or coffee
not to look into your eyes and cry
but to swoop and gather
my snatch, my pelt.
Currents shift tiers of hue
all vibrance dulls - again silence
the tin smell of rain.
A drop hits the red vinyl chair.
Watch it roll and stain
the white matte vein.

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