55. night of the moon crater

In the slipcover of sand dust

I sleep.

Between the down of insect’s wings

I sleep.

Under the spring quilt of stars

I sleep heavily,

one slippery breeze

stealing its caresses.

.

A coyote craving a bite off water

of the cool tinaja

sweats a trail across basalt,

toenails snapping quietly.

Tender calls of the owl drift

up the arroyo rock to rock,

shift darkness aside by

translation echo.

Bats toss whole lives with one

dip of wing

teaching fighter pilots to dream

each instant complete.

.

Between a slipcover of desert dew

I wake.

Under the warm down of sunlight particles

I wake.

In the palm of an ochre dune

curved to cradle hips 

I wake

slowly,

one slippery breeze

stealing a last long caress.