outside the walls of
Octatillo................
The doorbell rang.
too many coats of varnish........It always played the same
tune.
white bandages.........
the holes that the woodpeckers made............On the doorstep was the
curator
preoccupied with the application........carrying a black plastic
briefcase
brown grass on the hills.................from which many papers protruded.
the holes in the cactus........I walked him through the house,
a glass of beer............opened the sliding glass doors,
tried to touch them.........
........................pointed in the direction of Marlin's studio.
the words that were written in the painting....
continually unable to connect to its
provider.......
like an animal that hadn't eaten for several
days........
in search of the missing
components.........
always a hot day in
Arizona........
strewing meat and sauce in a wide circle........
the endless aisles of Home Depot........
the smell of the leather couch........
I could almost feel his hands.....................
hand carved napkin rings.........................
sopapillas......................
mustard colored tiles...............
the long walk into town..................
the sound that the lizards made..............