Desert Under Moon, Joshua Tree by Theodosia Henney


The desert under moon

is silken, close, impenetrable

as flesh—a land you could walk into

with nothing, never feel need

or shame or fear, only blue silver night

and sand like cat tongues

on the pads of your feet;

toe bones spread like pin feathers.


Desert blue nights draw you, hold close

as blood and fat to skin,

still leave you chasing

with your fingertips what shrinks away

because, perhaps, if you are lucky,

it is to the desert

you will go in death.