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An undercurrent of chaos.

I met a man in Ajo the other day,

I could see the boy in him still.


Another in Columbus. Where’re ya going cowgirl?

A glance downward at the pistol on my hip.


A third in Hachita.

Remember me, he said.


But today there is wind in my hair and dust in my face

and I have forgotten.


I ride this desert with its run-offs and arroyos,

only my shadow laid out ahead.  We make a perfect pair.


Moving through the lesser-known places -

the horse instinctively knows his way.


An old saddle-stitched leather jacket on my back.

The wilds of this land on my mind.


A crusty horseshoe from another time. A ram’s horn encased

in sand. The unexpected bloom of a cactus.


These are my treasures.

I hold them close.


How good it is to burn for something?


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