So the last one I'll read.
I presented a poetry show for BBC Radio 4
and went to New Mexico with my producer
to see a land art installation called The Lightning Field.
I don't know if any of you guys know Walter de Maria.
And I hadn't been able to write for quite a while.
And the desert is just always a place
that somehow feels like my spiritual home and renews me.
And I came back from that trip and ended up writing this poem.
I thought would be fitting to end with this called
"High Desert, New Mexico."
Temple of the rattlesnake's religion, deluge and heat
surge, crush of the atom's rupture.
Night blackens like a violin and bright flour
falls from the kitchens of heaven.
This is where the seams begin to loosen,
where you can walk for miles in any direction--
rabbit, lizard, raven, insect drone--
and almost forget the shame of being human.
Sagebrush, elk, not everything is broken.
Horses appear at this remote cabin
to stand outside and wait for you
to come with a single apple.
Abandon your despair.
You who enter here forsaken.
The wind is saying something.
Listen.
Thank you guys.