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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3653 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Bones Steve Williams In the desert, spring is late winter. Blooms of cactus are flesh of iridescent melons. One blossom caresses her ear as we settle on plush and velvet piles of wishbones. Horseshoe cliffs are burnt iron; the tunnel back is closed. Driftwood on black-rock beach accumulated here divaricate, splintered, broken. A branch behind us remembers buds of pink and white that bloom, wilt, hover with the gulls. Wind is a shower in our ears, our voices vibrate through coats, through bones. Late winter in the desert is spring. |
