My heel broke through and I tumbled
into a half-hidden cave in the middle
of the high desert scrubland.
I breathed dust and darkness, unable to move.
I am still there now, unsure of how
you can even be reading these words,
or how I managed to write them.
Battered and broken, it seems unlikely
that I will ever haul myself out. Even in these days
of technological wonders, people still die this way.
They are not always lucky enough to be rescued.
High above and far away, a lizard lifts its scaly head toward the sun.
A coyote lopes across a field where pronghorns munch the sagebrush.
In a sidewalk cafe, a girl raises a glass to her lips,
leaving a greasy red smear on the crystal rim.
And so I lie here,
thinking of you as I wait,
eyes open but seeing nothing
breathing dust and darkness