(upon drifting in Joshua Tree National Park)

Lizard slither, at least, their skin might not stick so much. Mine sticks, desert crystals roughing up the smoothness of riverstone. This water was too long ago, eon ocean,

battered rounds that smell of water, perfume, coy, a veil of water draped so long ago. Gone. All done and drained. Spirited away on desert fumes, heat death.

Crystals grow, accrete, erode, I imagine fractals in the tiny spires under my tender palm. Careful now, do not scratch retina, shoe leather, twist that ankle lest dinosaur

bones grow out of your desiccated flesh. Half-full water bottle glides unanchored down rounded hump of super whale, out of reach in the sand nest, verbena

viper lair, the scorpion’s climate sting shivers in spring rain mirage, desert blooms, one day, another, hipster coffee bar and bath house stink erased in mud

prints, hoof print, lizard pad softly, softly, down the curve, earth’s own curve, this tiny mudball, sandstone’s ancient uncle, ur-sea.