You find them alone, solitary: the desert bones. Without connection or trail. Random as if even in rain
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxor spring snow they died of thirst. With swollen
tongue, you bend to lift them from thistle, bluestem, juniper or ponderosa duff, the way you might
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxlift the beautiful companion from slumber
after love. When you coil back to your own shape you are less agile, as if fluidity has fled, displaced by
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxincrease in brittleness.
Inventoried, notated, summed, torqued into differentials, refracted through equations of warped light
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxor simple dark,
beyond all winnowed shade, you almost remember, as if nothing has been lost, an imprint
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxof honeycombed marrow against dried
lips, red taste of pulse, of breath-shared, the flood through the infinitesimal membrane between
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxour mortal and common, though unshared, skins.