Four Drives in the Heart of the Desert
Went out to the edge of my life. Tumbled soft,
by wind and by sun, by ocean, by elsewhere, Anza
Borrego—
Less of a schism
between man and sky; less democracy really.
Remembered the terrible theatre
of the rental car, that summer, my father
turning slowly into lava. This is the country
they say, where no one can live. Shed it
like shale. Where stars will refuse
to fasten themselves to the sky,
will stream down in contrails
& stammer.
Inlandia: A Literary Journey 