In Arizona


I was drinking at Billy’s

Outside of Cotaro

Where the floors are packed sand

And the beers still come with salt


She rode in from the reservation

On a Mexican bike; Reading my palm

She charted constellations

In the bones of my hand


That night

Riding in the desert

We played chicken on the interstate

With a hand in my pocket

She said the Great Spirit moved within me




We made love on warm stones And she tongue tasted skin

Hissing ancient words

As she came


I slept belly up


Of hot asphalt

Black eyes and beaded skin


I woke late


And already peeling

From the sun


Steven Vest lives and works in Alma Michigan with two children, one enormous dog and a very understanding wife. He wears many hats including librarian and professor and spends far too much time wishing he could see the ocean from his window.