Geographies

I reach for your cheek,
ask to put my palm to the contours
of your smooth, cool face.
One last, long embrace
of your topography
till you’re back on the trail
leading somewhere beyond
these confines.

I tried to tell you
that the wind was your companion
whistling up to the flats from the canyon.
And all the steers and cattle
are rounded up in the corral.
You miss the moors
with their damp airs and ivies.
Why did I bring you to this place so arid?

Even at the edge of a Great Lake
the barren bluffs surround me.
Deep yellow is the sand
at the foot of these cliffs
where I came to live.
The beaches’ coasting rollers
have pulled me to out to swim before.

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