PoetryAloud

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Emily Strauss Reads

Magenta Curves

How do we write about the silence 
that falls after we stop 
following a road, and instead watch 
the sunset wash over cold mountain 
defiles where snow clings 
on the dry rocky cliffs 
above a desert basin, 
a sinuous curve of magenta?

There are no words 
in the collected shadows
the rising blackness 
covers our thoughts— 
we can't write of ghosts 
in a journal of invisible pages.

Instead we sleep with the stars
in nights winter-cracked
lie huddled on stiff grasses 
and bare earth long enough 
to feel the absence of dreams.

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