The empty shelves are like the ribs
of some lost skeleton sticking out
of the warm sand in a new desert
I have only just imagined.
At the oasis they are grilling up
some lizards I have never seen,
and the smoke is like a goodbye hug to start with.
Artists selling paintings of the landscape
or of people like the woman
with her hair down and some moonlight
on her shoulder seeping in.
There is singing and lightly strummed guitar
throughout the background
and it’s the one sound that is conquering them all.
Friends meet in the market place
to move together to the bar
where all the best parts of the day
displace the worst.
Mothers talk about their kids
over dust covered steps
and in so doing begin to fill in all the gaps.
Swordsman lurk at the edges of the alleys
taking shade in like a ghost consumes the night.
Making their living with well placed cuts
they stare coyotes down advancing toward
the edge of town, until they turn back
disappearing where the skies clear
and the distant worlds are brighter
than a person could imagine
in a lifetime.

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