from Mojave Ghost
In the city, a weather of zeros-and-ones
cascades through rising static, while here
in this xeric topography, we fold ourselves
into the circumstances of desert foothills
chewed away by leprosies, toothed winds, and
sudden rains. Will you let me
approach you? Bend forward
and touch consequences, tenderness, leave
the trace of my fingertips
on your throat's dimple, your
clavicle, nipple? Lean in. In
my mouth, the sound of
your name has changed.
___________________
Forrest Gander
Mojave Ghost
New Directions 2024
