Agape

This is a desert scene.
Imagine the cactus
fever green
hunger strewn across sands
but we are driving 80
so Sonoran streams
out the window.
Morning moon shining
white atop blue.
Let’s call it cerulean.
Imagine the eagles
echo over fricative land.
This is no Blood Meridian,
this is a road trip pastoral
where the sky picks at me
like a naked vulture
neck deep in the thick of me.
I smile red
spilled open
heaviest parts plucked clean
arid syllables
chambered heart
chattering eye
the sky unties me.
Picture it
pining spines of prickly pear
sweet agave
air so soft that time rises and
dear God
the heat
what’s left of me
goes with it.