Friday, November 17, 2006

Desert Morning Glory   

Who will die at night
now writes
during ape
hour sometimes--

Dread disease
is strong you see
& I ask
your pardon
for taking

the small
black and white
image, folding
it into my wallet--

For all I know
It’ll keep me
safe in flight

I poor H.
was marred by you
for the 2nd
time, a soul-stitch
burning crowbar time

I decided to forget
the clear line,
the spread-
open look
I get when I fly

O of supple mind
did H. describe
the inside

of a tangerine
he knew--

Your being your
being is like

I cannot stumble
long enough
but your being
is like the trees
You seek to avoid
the violet hour.

Gate’s Pass, Desert Star   

for my friends at the University of Arizona, 1987-88

The best get killed or wounded by alcohol.
Of the Sonoran desert at night,
one time we were sitting in the red reaches
looking for Andromeda. There was talk
of a generic finish to the quest—
some of us would drive home
with a bottle of tequila pinned
between the knees. No one knew where’d
We’d be ten years after you, or I
sighted the twilling mass of starlight
at once like a bright, midnight eye,
like the whole city beyond Gate’s Pass
bundled tightly, a glowing fist ready
to take the last bottle and smash it
onto the scorpion-drenched rocks.