by James Croal Jackson.
at the dawn of new
love the redness of sand
but the enormity of
my past crash-landed
into the current
after losing sight
of an early oasis
I’m adjusting
to your alien
environment
a mast
can anchor
to lust buried
in the desert
to disappear
except you
re-emerge
endlessly
in thought
and linger
a ship
that surfaces
to haunt