Other Writing

Darkness spreads above the mountains 
like a plume of oil. Cool wind draws 

apart three-day clouds. Soon a carousel 
of stars in the moonless sky-bowl, some 

in formations we can name. Lying back 
toward midnight on the truck hood, 

we search for transient streaks of meteors. 
The ticking engine as it cools. The smell 

of cattle and rain-soaked hay. A coyote 
yips in the distance. 

Dew settles on our clothes. I rub the ridges 
on the back of your hand. 

Somewhere, the unseen asteroid dust. 

At dusk, behind the Prince Palace Truck Stop,
an irrigation ditch gurgles between backyards
and the highway.

My dog strains at his leash, snaps at small insects
rising from the cottonwoods along the bank.
Beyond the muddy water and a car up on blocks,

tinny ranchera music drifts on the warm breeze.
A few men drink and laugh, pitching horseshoes
in a dusty lot. Women tend a smoky barbecue.

A young Hispanic girl in a white party dress
scrapes a stick along a cyclone fence. Suddenly,
a gust of wind...