Aguirre Springs, New Mexico
April, 1999
The day on the desert mountainside
and on that black licorice night
I felt like Picasso’s women
put forth abstractly
Fragmented bellies and breasts
So there was the one spot
the pulse of
creation, the womb, the heart
you by instinct touched
with a boy’s wonderment
I imploded
hid it within
knew your soul was full
But through material planes
you were but an abundant spring
lush greenery without
our monuments of time
The thought still pricks me
like insouciant cacti
Intrude me
once more and again
for I knew of you
before this story was known
before the world
was even told
about how we met
at the stream
very dry and thirsty
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