it was when Danny
was in
from Spain
and I had left
New Orleans
the five of us
on the edge of
the road
in Utah
graduated
jobless
tired and
undrunk
there were no
cars
around
not even
way out
where the thin
black
line of the pavement
cut through the
desert sand
the wind did
not play
no guitars or
music of any
kind
and a long & loping
melody
simply did not
happen
as we sat talking
(about when we
would arrive
in the next town
and what we
would
eat)
with our voices
a small dull
sound
on the rock
with no echo
and the sun there
in front of us
with only a few
pink clouds
and the sky on
fire
and this fire
running at me
like
a wild animal
This article appears in September 2007.
