On
The
Mojave
There was a landfill operation
going on that summer
       dusty caterpillars squalling
       in the heat
i watched you
bony river
from the levee where my burning shoulders stood
sweat-dry in the desert air
       i’d heard you were sister
       to the Nile, running north
and standing there
                                           i half expected
pyramids among mesquite
and gilded barges shimmering
down your muddy throat
       your water drew my body then
       as now it draws my mind
       to honor a patient ageless borning
       in a dry fanged land.

 

Morning
Shastra
eggs on a plate
light sleet rattles fenders in the parkinglot
       no coffee today, stomach burns
“if meaning is not everywhere
it is nowhere”
       waitress tumbles tips
       into a styrofoam cup
       ballpoint “cindy” on the side
from the way she mutters
she loves the work.

cold falls through
       the swinging door;
change tables to dodge the draft
       sleet comes to rain sky like sludge
“cuppacoffee”
what the hell.
“his miracle is
       when he is hungry he eats,
       weary, sleeps”