The Least Space Inhabited

peach nectar spills out

my hand into

the silver-tufted desert

drink

we could die here of wasps

but I never wanted safety

I wanted the edge of property

to tear open with coyotes

the fruit inside us is a metaphor for decay

only the sky is real because it’s not ours

there are heights from which

we never land and wings

fold up around us

that the desert spreads forever

that we are afraid and not afraid of the ground

Adrian Kien