Lonely Planet’s Guide to Love
A dream in the desert
alone while fires rage
and wood has splintered
one side wet to a cooling flame
flip for hot fuming coals
and hold my branch between clenched knees
the tip red and ready for tomorrow
will pierce the shore.
a two fingered slit to watch
the sun too bright to see
a view of blue of sand of crashing waves
of your squint when you say nothing
into the empty morning.
And when I return to California
I’ve fallen apart on a granite ledge
finally apart from the rest of us,
feel hot, a glowing Yosemite leap,
only to come back later to the foot of
a giant tree,
and blankets of green moss
to watch the sunset and think of you
slipping over the falls.