From An Old Lover

Her letter drifted across an empty sky, a night shadow dragging its feet behind a wandering cloud. Striations on the walls of arroyos mark the arid years since we,

muddied in erotic torrents of cloudburst, felt new roots suck each tender drop, blush of new life erupting in passionate colors,

before vagrant dust filled every hollow footprint, left smooth, dry surfaces like unstroked flesh. Cool now, a breeze of her voice from the stillness, a kind moisture urging dormant life to emerge,

knowing such tender shoots rarely survive the desiccating sun, in night’s dark forgiveness a soft-lipped moment reaches up for the moon.