Laura F. Walton
A Memory

turned some other way, the light falls aslant.

in praise of the cactus.


           (her body was never mine

            in praise. turned.


            if my hands were a mile wide,

            I could ride these hills

            like white bulls at dawn)


her body was never


           (I saw its shadow on the ground.

            small reptiles shaded there

            and wept for white skin)


I know she was there.

I heard her breathe.


                       (a bellow rising with the sun:

                        she said my name)


in praise of spines. turned

in praise.