So we drive with the sun
spinning out
its last energies for us,
the dust and stone
turning yellow, turning
gray at the touch
of the whirlwind dance,

take me, for one –
the face of which
cracks like those thick plates
on the path out to the Rio Grande
crunching beneath our feet
like broken chocolate eggs.

take you – the girl
never outside the east coast
until we ran, wild, panting
our way away from Carolina

to find the grackle’s screech
the bend in the ocotillo arm
the desert sky hanging over us
in dusty pinks and violets
the cacti too far to prick,
our hearts fat and sore with it all.


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