Same Trip

love me without water
walk that desert, sans canteen

travel caked bleached flats
sand that crunches like snow
under your slender heels

leave a wandering creek
a sad map of footprints

wrap that black-and-white
patterned scarf around your face
so it ripple-whips your neck
in the high blue wind

and take your salt tablets

remember about mirages:
if you see a flock of pretty faces
keep moving

because not one heart beats
in that terracotta army

This is an older poem. Stylistically different, but I think it deserves a home here.

1 thought on “Same Trip”

  1. Yes, it certainly belongs here, nestled in with your other impossibly beautiful poems. Barren and lovely and teeming with desiccated life. I need a drink of water.


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