Interior Perfection of the Mohave

Once familiar voices sighinglike company overheardthe lunatic Joshua-treesand absolutes of sun and sandsay with the night wind chatterwhere will you stay?

lines in sand, no roadsto answer to, washboardweave, waves of an old seabedover these bonesonce making claims—and Californiasliding into the sea againhow will you keep from the edge?

ghost flowers, race of nightlizards, vacant blisters of saltscorpions hiding from the sunsky shading with metallic redsa route hidden deepin the clarity of mirageswhat will you see?

in rissoms of worn placesbreeding holinesses, bleachedhues, faces of the propheticin dreams, entering as you arethis space of silencesa trial by fire and coldhow will you hear?

ears hummingemptiness, flesh chastisedand the voice you thought youknew—and now cut loosefrom its accent—your eyes opening tothe moon's wide circleand a line moving in sandtoward you.