Coming Down to the Desert at Lordsburg, N. M.

Stand there on the rock
of the mountaintop
you man with a beard
so soon white-shot

you woman with pity
as old as the wars
you child with eyes
as young as the stars

behold this wind
southwestern sprung
that wrenches the desert
all month long

that blows out your pity
and blows out your eyes
and bleaches your beard
like the noon moonrise

behold the sand
the burning cloud
blown on the desert
like ash like gold

behold each other
your tender bones
strung in the wind
so long from home

then go down plunge
to the purge of sand
vanish together
hand in hand.