"3.
our blanketed galaxy in a fork of trees the dust,
the million scratches beside the shrunken rivers
to the wide desert sky called out by thunder call and i
don't taste the air with this land
with eyes like tiny planets
Landscape is at the margin of everything she'd seen,
but not what she was looking for the light now
casts its certain slant almost feathery,
almost different fields of meaning
sleep at dusk i believe in reincarnation the fire was
asking as it began asphalt to ashes
its center writ large at night who knows when it's enough
Sacred datura, bark scorpion, saguaro, and then
the Mojave rattlesnake.
[APPLAUSE]