Desert’s Spy

would write a picture of my dreams,
but have learned no words for what i see.

so they rot in an overcrowded jailhouse of 26 cells
& i sit silent.

the whim of mind’s senseless tangents
flow as liquid helium would
through mirrors we encounter.

lost my mind,
found her,
let her go again.

we are free of one another, but

we be the meandering river alongside its reflection,
bound to meet again
at the corner of cummins & savannah.

[corners serve double-time as
birthplaces & tombstones.]

stepping from home she points upward;
several ravens circling.
she claims,
“we’re living in the desert.”

i reply,
but thirst has led me to you
who cools my core like
three cubes in a glass of lemonade.

i’ve lived at the edge of the world
& still felt the anguish of our desert.
its arms embrace all its children
regardless distance.
here, at least solitude is a choice.
what are tears to an ocean?”

but no reply.
which is when realized
she was the desert’s spy
disguised, seeking out
its anomalies
& i had been discovered.
but not captured.

so i ran.

Categories: Photography, Poetry, UncategorizedTags: , , , , , , , , ,


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