Out North Mountain where I walked to avoid you
A light frost accumulated overnight
I need you in your moist and droughted versions
An erotic urge at the level of soil
We call each unit of poetry a line
Stumbling what I always thought of as forward
Rain when it comes glistens the webbed opening
Enter the acequia — old, disused
A new life, new place, new work will redeem me
Adobe walls buckled with water damage
Nothing in the end to keep me away, then —