Perhaps, In Another Life: when we are both cats

I am going to be writing poems! for the next month: 28 days of slippery words and lost metaphors.

*1*

I've heard a lot about the desert.

I hear that the sun cracks over the horizon like an egg on a skillet, that the heat waves shimmer and can cause the eye to believe that there is motion where there is none.

That it's a balm for the wounded, a treacherous mistress, a madame blanc, who will turn any evil inside of you to stone.

You are leaving here to go there to the desert. To listen to crickets and burn small brush and watch the stars move across the horizon.

Packed up and have it all in 30 pounds of well balanced gear that straps down tight on the back of your motorbike. Going out there to the desert on your bike.

I am here listening to the refrigerator, reading the newspaper, drinking coffee.