tombstone

the hope of youth has died

replaced by a stranger

by a whisper

the voice of another world

grinding me to dust

my voice, a vacuum

the coolness of my fall

the falling of leaves

keeps me from sleep
and the inevitable rest

Joshua Tree

In this faraway place

I suddenly [can't] find myself

I [can't] remember the sunrise

The ascending rocks of Joshua Tree

Picasso’s first word was the same as his last.

wormheart

rain falls

corrugated gutters

our breath held too long

iron and argon fill our lungs

ear to the ground—

     air

    moves the

         leaves—
      choked

—like an earthworm

  in the sun.