Rhymes on Albuquerque

What a clear, cool night in Albuquerque.
Old Town's not at all cold for February.

Since sixteen, working in Santa Fe, Cath has
loved this desert. She thinks it's a treasure-trove

of turquoise, adobe, chile, with dry
air and moonlight. Tonight, winter sky

does not disappoint. But she's far from home
in Houston, and her husband. She has roamed

from her demented mother, moved to Texas
now. Deep lack makes her hate this feckless

midnight. Silence in the high plains is so lonely.
The snow on the Sandìa range (for only

her) such a waste -- and her eros. Soon
she walks back to LaQuinta, forlorn.

Tomorrow to the shops -- the Navajo
and Zuni bright blue stones. The patio

at the church street café where coffee is
piñon, delicious. Hot tamales sheer bliss.

But tonight, Catherine sees Venus, her star.
She wants Heathcliff to say, "Yes, you are."

- Open Windows / Labyrinth