on the straight and narrow of New Mexico

I roll a window down and let the heat blast in

carelessly drag my brown arm

through fast

dry wind

Shiprock rises steadfast

a wind-crafted crown on the

weathered face of ancient ocean floor

Ute horses stand

apathetic bags of bones

working their mouths on dust

there is little else

the sky bends back and breaks itself

above the paper-bag-sipping heart of Farmington

I lift my face up

I drink too