Gallery

You came to the desert, illiterate, spirit-ridden,

intending to starve

The sun hand of the violin carving through space

the endless landscape

Acres of ochre, the dust-blue sky,

or the strange young man beside you

peering into “The Man Who Taught William Blake

Painting in His Dreams”

You’re thinking: I am ready to be touched now, ready to be found

He’s thinking: How lost, how endless I feel this afternoon

When will you know:

all night: sounds

Violet’s brief engines

The violin’s empty stomach resonates

Music a scar unraveling in four strings

An army of hungry notes shiver down

You came to the desert intending to starve                so starve