There’s a way out— walk the dirt road into cerulean dawn, tap the windows of cars and trucks rattling down highway 77 with clear fingerprints, and clasp the nine eyes of the desert shut at the intersection of then and now. Ask: will this whirlwind connect to that one, making them cousins to the knife? Will lake mist etched on flakes of flood-birthed moonlight hang its beard on a tow truck hoisting up a buck, butterflies leaking from its nostrils, dark clouds draining off its cedar coat?
Copyright © 2018 by Sherwin Bitsui. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 6, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.