John Yohe

Individual coming together The rain the black oak tree, a rock the open space in front of it, broken stillwater, a mirror whose face the wind destroys the wind, with its desire to destroy and on my wrists the long red scars each erased of its many pictures. I never believed a body’s mending held the unknowns of its blindness: weeds, mud tracks on the floor a woman pulling away from her husband across a dusty hotel bed, insulting him as though his obedience caused it I never saw them come together the jagged wind that went out finally I never dreamed of not watching that the way we watched the sky on winter days your foot on my back, the lipstick the cold air there is a darkness, and pleasure the bound wrist changes everything like wind feeds fire or carves rock unseen, unidentifiable except felt on the skin, exposed my love for you this fire my love for you this fire burning in the desert brighter than the lights of Phoenix brighter than the moon & stars in land too thick and steep to contain I can only wait and try to sleep while isolated pockets flare in the night — orange light and crackling my love for you this fire these embers staring out of trees these cat-faced snags this smoke choking my lungs blinding my eyes and the ash covering my skin the grit on my teeth the heat on my face stopping me from getting too close