The winter desert bites.
My right hip juts in the sleeping bag,
thinning what little fibers cover it anyway.
.
So small, we rest under a towering red earth
Red like blood, like rosy cheeks, a too-ripe peach
Like so many things, it is and we are, too.
.
Freezing temps, tears, and a thumb nail cut too short
shake me out of the dream’s belly
that anything is ordinary.
.
I’m awake! I remember!
to love truly, to ask questions
to live in a state of miracles
to lie on the floor next to you
and say how we are.
.
Isn’t it spectacular?
Alive and seeing each other, finally
It takes a nip from the desert to remember.
.
Wonder is here, or near, and strung together
by the knowing that it never stays
It fleets — the cold, the tears, the arid love.
.
I eventually fall back asleep.
