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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