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| Borrego Springs, 2016 |
Snippets from the road trip
It's always snippets
A blast of laughter, a verse from a song
An incomplete conversation
But never the full
Like the strand of a violin pull.
The road goes by.
The naked stone, the ancient stone
Piled high upon more and more
Triple digit heat doesn't hit
Until after the mount and coming
back through switchbacks.
The rocks barely care.
Nothing moves after 11
The shadows are gone
Except under rock and root
The sand is still, the air has stopped
As you move through the heat
It feels like your face to a furnace.
You are nothing in the heat
You are nothing to the desert.
