Saturday, April 24, 2010


If one day, catching fire, the monotonous
sky, bitter and replete with
versions of something we call water,
should fall in, or spread outward
in giant clouds, or pour down
in an eruption of a thousand colors
I may not know the path across the desert
I may not know the way across the angry river

but I will find you
and we will walk together
your hand in mine, my hand in yours