i drive straight
lines hundreds of miles
in an attempt to steer my way through this mojave
in my mind.
it’s just me, lifeless space, silver dust, and freight trains.
what a strange state to be in,
my desert days.
i find faith
in burnt coffee, crossroad cities,
hidden springs and the starlight motel.
faith, draped in fraying prayer flags
under the shadow of some towering saguaro,
at the base of thunder mountain.
like desert rain.
i bury all doubt under twisting pinyon, and juniper,
and tread pine needle shrines with bare feet.