From the dusty mesa
Her looming shadow grows
Hidden in the branches
Of the poison creosote.
She twines her spines up slowly
Towards the boiling sun,
And when I touched her skin,
My fingers ran with blood.
In the hushing dusk,
Under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind
To watch the cactus bloom.
A strange hunger halted me;
The looming shadows danced.
I fell down to the thorny brush
And felt a trembling hand.
When the last light warms the rocks
And the rattlesnakes unfold,
Mountain cats will come
To drag away your bones.
And rise with me forever
Across the silent sand,
And the stars will be your eyes
And the wind will be my hands.
