desert, darling
In my desert, darling, I coil round you heavy
as a snake, disappear in moon shadow—behind
the red rock, I will show you my woman's body
wet in a handful of dust—when night comes unfamiliar,
I will find you like a huntress cruel and slow-woken
in the cool, fill your empty places with my hot open
spaces, dry fire in my touch and my tongue.
In my desert, darling, you shrink helpless
as a flower parched of rain, and you'll beg
for my revival: soft lick of sandy cat,
old gods with claws that heal where hot blood's
as good as thunderstorm, and its fall more likely.
In my desert, darling, you'll find me burning
up the night, a desert saint of scale and holes
where rocks climb like cathedrals of polished bone,
and when you're lost, my darling, remember I am
here: in the empty spaces, the room stripped bare;
when the air straddles you hot as lover in your bed
too small for two, I sing you clear where voices
carry, I scratch you deep into the rock—
In my desert, darling, I know your name.
Where night lies clear as tears across the sand,
the moon reflects your face from every angle
as if you flickered in the candles of my prayers.
published in Windfall, Truman State University literary magazine (2003)