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.

 

 

***