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Silent as you speak
mute, my words cut off
a failed conversation and yet
you call me a dream,
a silent film in color
a retro pin-up girl
1970s somewhere in the woods
with my flannel
and megawatt smile

I beg you to to tell me
what the desert smells of;
no answer.
You do not think of smells in terms
of place --
let me tell you a story:

Once upon a new Year's eve
when I was young, just seventeen
my plane stopped in Arizona.

In the causeway,
twixt machine & machine
came a smell of jasmine,
gardenia, oleander, prickly pear,
sweeter than grandmother pudding,
and mixed generously with

expanse.

ten feet I almost dropped
to run into the sand
and live a wild coyote life.
Ten years a desert queen
with no rain,
but these are the choices we make.