Words Seep Down

​Words seep down. To you, to me,
To them. Words come home, they have
The power to tremble glass. It’s scary
For everyone. The cows calve,

The rain falls on dust. The golden
Suncup, the fairy duster, the Apache
Plume, the desert bloom, the might,
The kind words—your throat is still scratchy--

The calm, cool morning. And above
The copper devil’s claw, the blue
Blazes, the air pulses, even
If you fall asleep, still, you

See that blue. You can start to talk, 
Even to those who clearly are
Not you. “Come to me, you
With your back to me, playing guitar.”