Just under the skin
the water waits,
blood pulsing milky
veins through the Great
Basin, love child of
a dying sea.

No long grass here,
no bison.
Only horses at the wedding.
Long slow wash of sand
births wonder stone. Broken
water drinks the desert's tears.

Bedding soon becomes
a sage's goal, and wiser
women often fail us.
A single coyote cries
below her hill, and waiting,
hears the Basin sigh.