I don’t have the feeling I have been here before but

I have been land before.  Cactus spine,

my seeing eyes,

a craggy of rock, my ear.

To hear that melancholy wind blow

as a ship yet unseen.  Oh water,

even you remember being here,

of being desert.  You mourn and wail

when the clouds are low

wanting to excavate the fish bones

that lime the soil with pernicious hope

of another salty Gomorrah.  Lines of nets

roam the shored banks of highway,

droning a lullaby of nothing and nothing then

shock-jumped into the metal end of mortality.

While travelling through Nevada

it is easy to forget my cactus spine,

my craggy rock, to be caught by the lighted lure,

 to ignore the lyre of a ship still unseen.

I have been you before.