Your shoulders gather freckles.

I know where to find potsherds, there is a place

by the river where abandoned adobe melts.
Polychromed geometry discarded near the

broken bodies of trees and the wire strung from

rusting iron crosses set to resist the siege of flood water.

The light sings through the fabric of your dress,

throwing curves into silhouette.

I know where the illegal dump is, the road veers

left but if you turn right onto the dirt road you’ll

get there. Look for the signs both for and against it.

Three friends died when they couldn’t make the turn.

I could find a home in the air of your smile.

Every day I wrap desire in a new package,

I get tired of dissecting middens for voyeuristic

pleasure but sometimes there is ketchup

when you need it.

.