"You came to the desert illiterate,
spirit-ridden intending to starve.
The sun hand of the violin carving through space.
The endless landscape acres of ocher.
The dust blue sky where the strange young man
beside you peering carefully into the man who taught William
Blake painting in his dreams.
You were thinking, 'I'm ready to be touched now,
ready to be found' He is thinking, 'how lost,
how endless I feel this afternoon' When will you know?
All night sounds, violets brief engines.
The violins empty stomach resonates.
Music, a scar unraveling in four strings.
An army of hungry notes shivers down.
You came to the desert intending to starve.
So starve."