Desert Under Moon, Joshua Tree by Theodosia Henney
The desert under moon
is silken, close, impenetrable
as flesh—a land you could walk into
with nothing, never feel need
or shame or fear, only blue silver night
and sand like cat tongues
on the pads of your feet;
toe bones spread like pin feathers.
Desert blue nights draw you, hold close
as blood and fat to skin,
still leave you chasing
with your fingertips what shrinks away
because, perhaps, if you are lucky,
it is to the desert
you will go in death.