there are sixty-five miles
of telephone wire
between acoma
and albuquerque
i dial the number
and listen for the sound
of his low voice
on the other side
hello
cradling tiny purple flowers
that grow near the road
toward laguna
i smell them
as i near the rio puerco bridge
my voice stumbles
returning over sandstone
as it passes the canoncito exit
i have missed you he says
the rhythm circles the curve
of mesita cliffs
to meet me
but my voice is caught
shredded on a barbed wire fence
at the side of the road
and flutters soundless
in the wind