My Mojave

　　 by Donald Revell

　　 Sha-

　　 Dow，

　　 As of

　　 A meteor

　　 At mid-

　　 Day： it goes

　　 From there.

　　 A perfect circle falls

　　 Onto white imperfections.

　　 （Consider the black road，

　　 How it seems white the entire

　　 Length of a sunshine day.）

　　 Or I could say

　　 Shadows and mirage

　　 Compensate the world，

　　 Completing its changes

　　 With no change.

　　 In the morning after a storm，

　　 We used brooms. Out front，

　　 There was broken glass to collect.

　　 In the backyard， the sand

　　 Was covered with transparent wings.

　　 The insects could not use them in the wind

　　 And so abandoned them. Why

　　 Hadn't the wings scattered？ Why

　　 Did they lie so stilly where they'd dropped？

　　 It can only be the wind passed through them.

　　 Jealous lover，

　　 Your desire

　　 Passes the same way.

　　 And jealous earth，

　　 There is a shadow you cannot keep

　　 To yourself alone.

　　 At midday，

　　 My soul wants only to go

　　 The black road which is the white road.

　　 I'm not needed

　　 Like wings in a storm，

　　 And God is the storm.

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