Academic journal article Field

Dickinson in the Desert

Academic journal article Field

Dickinson in the Desert

Article excerpt

Repeat. No trees. Repeat.

How it spreads. Vast bronze, burnt orange to ocher

to unsettling. Clouds scatter-deep en

thought or no thought dazzled to a cactus

red-flowering all over the place low,

not quite a heart into shards.

She might love this. Then she does, she's doing

and I say: why? And Dickinson: why wouldn't

I be here? My needle and thread, my

words to fit pages I cut

and make little books no bigger than my hand

to hide in this spot of future weirdly

uneventful, just like before,

in Amherst. I'm crazy curious, remember?

Her hand, any hand wired up

to the sparking furious brain cannot sleep.

I've read that much. It's the ache of trees I miss. …

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