Even the pine trees and the cedars of Lebanon exult over you and say, "Now that you have been laid low, no woodsman comes to cut us down."*
-Isaiah 14:8


the little bird tried to fly through the screen door and I
thought, if only there were more air out here.
if only the pines in their firm feet didn't wave your hands at me.
if only there were still water
in the creek.

they spent a week like this,
driving from port town to port town.
writing down the names of truck stops.
drawing sidewalks

with chalk.

we held hands and crossed into mexico with
tongues that flick across red lips.
we spent three weeks like this, trying to weep.
but the desert drank us up
and everything was thirsty
and everything was dry.