“The Desert, It Is Sleeping Now”
In the places where you slept
upon handkerchiefs of wings
there are the crashes of falling things
I have built a soundproof house
what I should trade water for sleep
and await the day the desert creatures
see me as their own.
To my youngest son
I say grow, boy
and leave a suit the color of time
that he may go unheeded and unseen
into the world.
My thanks to Heidi Rietsch and @buddyblanc’s late uncle’s journals for furthering this season’s emotional education, viz. their unintentional craft notes on isolation. The horse flies have resumed their bloodlust and the birds are eating all the tomatoes, but the ironwood trees are carpeting the sand with florets and leaflets like flyers for whip-wielding ladyboys up and down the Vegas Strip, and East Jesus is as lonely and lovely as I’ve ever seen it.