Tresha Faye Haefner

A Reminder


As you approach the road through the desert,
the coyotes howl, their high, silver cries.
Proof that something lives in these hills.
Moon-quiet. Valley purpled with thought.
Boulders gather like lost gods
broken by the angels.
Raven’s large wings swoop so noisy
she reminds me what it is to be human. In the sage,
the invisible owls bark
their warnings.
Ghosts of the Cahuilla watch over
these large spiders crossing a road,
birds twisting into sand.
When the road dies,
the desert finds you. An emptiness
so complete you can almost call it home.