Across the Mojave


Across the Mojave

abandoned homes

stripped clean, eroded,

honed down to


that prick

the wind-

scoured sky,

so that

one can see,

through crumbling walls,

naked mountains,

one range grayer

than the next,

until earth’s shape

curves them away,

or, one can see

close by,

spiny ocotillo

whose scarlet

blooms on


in spring


with holy fire

or hell’s fire,

as either one

may be,

here on the


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I've been writing mostly poetry for many years and have gotten a number of works accepted in publications and anthologies. I'm most interested in communicating with poets for whom craft is a high priority. I enjoy finding and commenting on poetic gems in other people's work. For my own work, I welcome polite comments, whether positive or critical.

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