The color of this land
is like a balm
same as the sharp air
same as when the opaque dust
rises and shrouds the mountains
…the mountains that are “as big as life”
Danny told me today
Age 73
Same as the canopy of dove calls
all day into evening
An aloe
for all I carry
You are this terrain
of soft yellow petals
and steadfast hills
eternally bright
even once the sun falls

In a low full moon
this valley of gold
glows wild
and you are at my side
as gentle blue as every clear morning
as consuming as the creosote on every gust

We sip whisky in the afternoon
at the kitchen table of your long-lost family
and you see yourself
in the Italian cypress
and Norteño eyes
They give us pistachios from the trees in the yard
so we can carry this vast, yet caged landscape
home
Ofelia and Cata and Rodolfo
Jose and Henry, smile
as we speak of them
finally
on this ground that made them

You spy street cats that I miss
and give them perfect names
as if we were home
…side by side in this light
we are

My skin like the apricot mallow
across the street with the broken bottles
dotted like painted dust
left to dry
I look up at Orion
while you look over at it
The only man to know a constellation
of his own
High above for all to see
across latitudes far from this desert
(They think they have it)
All the while the purest version
is yours
to hold
any hour you choose
long after the sun breaks open the night