For those souls emptied out along the Colorado
by the faux stone shoulders of civilized desire,
by the magnesium mail and short-circuit shows
of betrayal and the bottom-line;
know now that you may lie low and behold
cumulus clouds rolling the polestar forward
as sweating palms unfold oblong almond dreams
driven darkly beneath obsidian arroyos
until time slows, hour ingesting hour,
day divesting day, and fragrant dusk comes
unalarmed, silver and sand strewn, harboring
ivory night on noon’s tongue, forked and fertile,
nourished by a wine kind tide of tiny fish bones
—know the mind makes omens of such circles
even when the T.V. tower shatters your nerves
and the postal service forgets to deliver the news
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