One of those deceptive desert days
When the sky is as clear as my father's ice-pale gaze
and you expect the melted butter sun to greet and warm you.
Instead, the blue meets your skin as if the world has been covered in a chill-clear glaze.
I know dusk is coming before the sky darkens;
the shadows of the rimrocks eclipse one another and blacken.
As I drive into their expanse I slip off my sunglasses,
watching wired matchsticks trailblaze to the tops unbroken
and I wonder-
What need is there for power on top of a rimrock?
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