Words of Acadiana

 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 

 Even the sky gets tired of giving its all.  I relate. 

  Desert Dancefloor This morning I sit alone, watching the pulse of the desert rise with the sun. A rhythm reveals itself in the creosote, in the sparrows picking through gravel, in the shadows retreating toward the mountains. The earth has its own nightclub. No neon. No last call. Just heat gathering itself for another long set. It reminds me of New Orleans— rain-soaked nights, basslines rolling through my ribs, the dance floor crowded with ghosts wearing the faces of the living. Back then, I danced to outrun myself. Sweat erased the edges of old insecurities. The music made promises it could never keep. I know where the bodies are buried. Not in the literal sense. I mean the dreamers, the lovers, the beautiful wreckage of people who burned too brightly, who mistook the spark for the sun. Some are buried beneath memory. Some beneath regret. Some beneath songs I can no longer hear without stopping. Now the desert is my DJ. The ether spins invisible records. The wind scratches acros...