The concave view over desert groves
is maligned, dense with sacrifices
not to be believed.
A native face peers backward to time
and woman, gathering memory like
flowers on healing cactus.
Your eye is froth & formation, it is
rain of protocol you can’t relinquish
as water is wasted on sacred sand.
Across the turquoise rug, hexagon shapes.
I discover you, the howl of eternal mornings
while beckoning the blue from this sky,
while gesturing an infant from sleeping tree.
Sip the maguey juice from these mountains,
shear chaos from the catacombs:
forget and ferment the pain.
On the back of your hand, circles of flame.