Coachella Elegy

Somewhere there’s music.

We drive by Coachella

to the Salton Sea.

A sea as dead as Salt Lake.

My phone buzzes.

It’s the anniversary

of my brother’s death.

There are no reeds

as there are at Cana

and this water will not

become wine.

Shorebirds drink it,

not because they love

the world

but because

there’s a magnet in it.

Is that freedom,

this wandering?

There’s a forgotten

swing set submerged

in this sea. Young people who

once swayed on it still exist.

Salt, I float in it,

wanting to be held up.