The Way It's Done

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If you would woo me
Be cognizant of altitude,
And the fluctuations of air pressure
When thunder breathes
Upon the nape of the high pass
And lightning is your tongue.
Take me into the desert.
If you would know me
Memorize the watershed --
Canyon, arroyo, gully, and creek:
The ages traced in Fortuny silk,
Like the cloud shadows that lie
Forever between us.
To find my heat
Stop and pull over
When the sun lowers itself
Upon the dead grasses
And the blaze can last an hour.
Take me into the desert.
If you would know my sinew
Study the desert crust,
A microclimate accrued
Across a thousand arid nights
As ancient and fragile as hope.
If you would gain my trust
Do not ignore the plummeting
Raven as he falls for that other half
And makes spirals of the prism darkness
For the white light pleasure of it
If you would seduce me
Take me into the desert spin
Incremental odometric pleasures
On my skin as smokey sweet
As the dust plumes rising behind us
On the long road out.
For I am she that waits upon
The pungent ridge
The basalt shadow
The firelight
And falls only as hard
As  the last flash flood.

Born to Burn

Eight Angels