Highroad

All the blood in my nose dries up
and I am hot,

sunglazed,
reared

by the desert,

somewhere
outside of Truchas,

the dust
and dirt
nourish my face,

the desertflowers
of my father
stir my mind

and the mountaintop crosses
remind me
of what I am,

if solace exists,
if I,
or the desert,
can feel contentment,

this is it