The White Tank Mountains are West of Phoenix.
It's been a while since I've been there.
And this is a poem about a sunset.
Lord, help us.
Another poem about sunsets.
But it's a poem about spending the night
and watching the sun go down called "White Tanks"
"When the sun goes down over the White Tank Mountains
and the sternum of the Earth collapses,
when the sun goes down and for miles below, the marshes settle
with birds, up in the crags the bears
turn around once and feeling the stars come sleep.
I take off my buckle.
The eyes of my boots roll off and lie in the rubble, pearls
and cold seeds.
The stone man inside me stands, gall on his lips.
The last light shining through his ribs
and surrounded by wolves.
The winds of the dark ranges spinning.
I stretch on a narrow bench of sand.
Rock for a pillow, hands frozen to my sides.
As the horde marches over the horizon fills my mouth,
water fills my lungs, my teeth sing.
As the mountain circle beneath them, the mud on my ribs
falls in."