I swing, catch
my breath on the North Star,
between Joshua Trees,
in the moon’s hammock.

colossal.
twilight’s brilliant
monument, spacious,
alone.

almost touching, magnified horizon,
bigger than my neighborhood.
Southwest’s Yucca Valley twilight,
opaque half-moon,
lingering embrace.

this evening,
remembering,
I steal away,
to feel the moon’s
breath,
brimming desert night.

sprawled close enough to climb,
golden caramel,
slung heavy, as dusk collects
over highway 62,

life’s tremulous reminder to
keep a light grasp on feelings,
intricate,
yet
embedded deep.