'desert road with midnight radio'

endsummer. history
losing breath,
a day’s weight
in air, dragging
gigantic suns through
the length of desert
power lines. flogged
by light, flared
in the inflamed
tails of cars, beauty
leaks a pure, dull black

ink unravelling in
the death-red eyes
of roadkilled
rabbits, sunstruck, sore-
pointing east-west
under the evening
star, illuminated
in the great hollow
vault of moonbone,
hearing the long road mumble
a poem of sedans
against lean ideas
of natural water,

from the dry throat
of day, a volley
of cracked song
a Magpie’s crouched intent
for wrecked flesh
reverberates animals
toward each angle
of vanishing.

thin in our own
music, appearing
in rear vision, in
the frail structures
of wakefulness, our names
come apart in wisps,
among stones
and pictures, as

in the chipped cup
of the hare’s memory,
the smell
of wet leaves lingers
in earth’s doorless
room, as a hand, holding
a gesture of rain.