Words of Acadiana

 Navajo crosses  Call to me in the moonlight  I smoke myself past midnight  And drink whiskey  Until my throat remembers fire  Santa Fe is asleep  The Sangre de Cristos Watch without speaking  I say his name  Once  And let the wind take it  I can not tell If I am cursed  Or cursing him  Two ghost horses  Pull against the dark  One toward him  One away  Then  One breaks free  And the mountains keep the secret  Like they always do 

 Navajo crosses  in the dark  Lonely road  Small flames  against the desert  I sit alone  in the night wind  and smoke  Santa Fe  is spread below me  a handful of lights  caught in the valley  The Sangre de Cristos  keep their silence  They have seen  what men do  with love  Whiskey leaves  its warmth in my throat  a slow burning  after the swallow  I think of him  Love did not make it  Neither did we  There were throat punches  Bruises  Words we carried Like stones in our pockets  Still  I loved him  god I loved him  Some nights  I think I might live through it  Some nights  I think I might not  The cigarette burns  between my fingers  Smoke rises  and disappears  into the black  I envy it  to become nothing  so easily  Beyond the city  the mountains stand  with th...

 After death  I learned there was no reason  to be afraid  The distance between us was only a door  a road  a little weather  we had mistaken for forever  When I was alive  I loved him in shadows  A shoulder against mine  in the dark  a hand lingering  too long at the doorway  His shirt on the chair  beside my bed  I took what love he gave me like a cigarette  held it between my fingers  watched it burn watched the smoke disappear  I thought there would be another  There wasn’t  Now I can walk beside him  without anyone seeing  I can say his name  without lowering my voice  I can stand beneath the enormous western sky  and admit the simple thing:  I love him  Until my last breath released  and then a little further  What a waste all those years  spent wanting  what was already ours  Fear was the only thing  that ever se...

 He found the shirt  behind the winter coats  creased at the sleeves  still holding the shape  of a man who was now just a ghost  For a moment  the whole room smelled of dust  and horses  and the long blue distance  between wanting  and having  He remembered the way  they stood beside each other  close enough to touch  afraid enough not to  Two men who could not fix it  so they learned to stand it the wanting  the ache  the heat of a body  remembered by another body He lifted the shirt  and laughed once  then almost cried  Outside the western sky  went on forever  Inside their two shirts  hung together  on one wooden hanger  sleeve over sleeve  two into one  He looked at them  until heartbreak  and happiness  became the same thing  Both burning down  through him  like whiskey. 

 In mountain footsteps  Desert Sky opens above  Strength borrowed from stone. 

 The desert keeps  Old agreements At night  I walk softly  There are currents here  That do not belong to the wind  The silence is listening  If I remain too long  It begins  To erase my edges  Morning lifts the veil  The mountains seem friendly again  And whatever was watching  Returns  To the earth