Confluence

 

With closed eyes
I see musicians
strewn across the sage desert
mostly ignoring the ocotillo and the sotol
voices and strings
trying to transmute the dry wind
riddling me this is this, hear it.
Are you here with me?

With closed eyes
I catch a catfish in the bayou
or was it the Rio Grande?
I am told the deer follow the caterpillar
and some people here used to follow the deer.
There’s no one here in the red sunset.

With closed eyes
I waste my darling mind
a speck of noise in the silence
like the jagged pictographs
at this river’s edge
the shaman and serpent
then and now, always
trying to know
if they, or God, or you,
are here with me.

 

 

 

 

 

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