Sand, sego lily, Tarantula Mesa,
And the red light on the dashboard
Like a flash flood, fifty miles
From the nearest road
That acts like a road, culverts
And junction signs
For the boat trailers to Lake Powell.
Out here, there is only buffalo shit
From the only free-range herd outside of Yellowstone.
And cactus with water so hard-earned
It wants you to feel pain
Just for the fact that you desire it.
Out here,
Only your eyes travel fast.
And even they stop dead
After running into stone.
(Originally published in Kudzu House Quarterly, Winter Solstice, vol. 4, issue 3, p. 24. Read the whole issue, which includes another poem by Daniel Bourne, here. )
Daniel Bourne: Poet, Editor, Translator 