I'd like to read maybe three more.
This is one that was written--
if I can find it--
was written after the first time I was in Tucson.
It was written to my friends, Lois and Richard Shelton.
I was saying, earlier today, that after meeting Richard,
and hearing him read, was the first time I have--
and only time, actually--
I have ever said that, if I didn't write like me,
I wouldn't mind writing like him.
But I write like me, so there you are.
Remarkable poem.
Now I can't find it.
Oh, yes.
It's called "Sonora Desert Poem."
And we went out, and we saw-- the first time I was here,
and we went out and saw the cactuses.
Is that what-- cacti?
See, I don't mind not knowing.
Which is it, though?
Cac-- what?
Cacti?
It's both?
Oh.
If you care about people, don't let them just be ignorant,
and just walk away.
Try to help people.
It's a good thing.
And we went up, and we saw the sun go down.
It was green, you know.
Anyway "Sonora Desert Poem," for Lois and Richard Shelton.
One.
The ones who live in the desert, if you knew them you
would understand everything.
They see it all and never judge any, just drink the water
when they get the chance.
If I could grow arms on my scars like them,
if I could learn the patience they know,
I wouldn't apologize for my thorns
either, just stand in the desert and witness.
Two.
Directions for watching the sun set in the desert.
Come to the landscape that was hidden under the sea.
Look in the opposite direction.
Reach for the mountain.
The mountain will ignore your hand.
The sun will fall on your back.
The landscape will fade away.
You will think you're alone until a flash
of green incredible light.
Three.
Directions for leaving the desert.
Push the bones back under your skin.
Finish the water.
They will notice your thorns and ask you to testify.
Turn toward the shade.
Smile.
Say nothing at all.
Thank you.