Nighttime Qualms

The sprinkler just quit,
and that's great
because I just realized that it was irritating

I can't think
can't sleep
can't find my way
home again

even the sound of the crickets,
which usually calms my nerves,
is instead tearing them into little pieces
of red fire.

Itch,
sigh,
twist my leg out from under the covers.

from the open window,
watch the moon slip behind a cloud
the way a woman's curves
slide into white silk.

watch it break out,
like a child from bathwater,
chilling the hot night
with its naked silver beam.

but right now,
all I want to see is the dark
places behind my eyelids.

Quiet

Sunday night:
the room still smells like skunk
or dead coyote
or whatever the dog rolled in today.
My hands reek of it, too,
lavender soap's attempt at masking the ugly scent.

Now she's asleep in the basement,
curled up behind the khaki chair.
why she sleeps on that cold concrete floor
instead of on the cushioned rug...

It's quiet now
but her nose still quivers after that rabbit.

If I could expend that kind of energy at day,
perhaps I would be so tired at night.
Then I wouldn't mind the feel of a cold floor
against my chin,
tail curled over my nose,
the fresh stink to fill my dreams.

Desert Song (Feb. 7, 2005, So Dak)

How I miss you, sweet blossoming desert.

How I miss those vast blue skies,

filled with dust of a distant land.

I miss your fresh warm kiss

of oranges and sunshine,

of cactus flowers

and heat rising from the crusty sand.

Oh, how I miss you, watchful towering mountains.

How I miss you wrapped in thunderclouds,

rains sweeping across the thirsty dirt.

I miss your blooms stretching to catch one drop

from the threatening sky,

each bud thriving,

knowing its life depends on you.

How I miss the long, curvy road into Saguaro,

how I miss Pima Canyon,

shaded by Palo Verde trees.

How I miss sitting atop boulders lining the creek.

How I miss that bright moon,

luna llena

and the endless sky of stars.

How I miss the drive to Camino del Norte,

and the view of the Catalinas, the Tortolitas,

The Tucsons.

How I miss Hugh Norris Trailhead,

and prancing through Pima

and venturing up Ventana

running up Esperanza

and endlessly and hopefully up and up until sitting

on top of Wasson Peak and watching the sun set,

listening to your spirit sing.