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 —