Read by the author.

 

But here, you said, at the time of our intrusion,

you said this zone here is not one of the earth’s sentences

but an overdub of stutters here where we’re walking

on this slumbering crack, a complex, you said,

of tensions right here, and you bent and touched

your finger to the warm, ant-fenestrated dirt

while I surveyed the hairpin turn in the arroyo beside us

and then you stood and brought it, your finger,

to my lips, you said here, and you watched me

as the taste, part you part earth, brought a change to my face.

 
This is drawn from “Mojave Ghost (a novel poem).”