From the dusty May sun,
Her looming shadow grows,
Hidden in the branches
Of the poison creosote.
She twines her spines up slowly,
Towards the boiling sun,
And when I touched her skin,
My fingers ran with blood.

In the hushing dusk,
Under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind
To watch the cactus bloom.
And strange hands halted me,
The looming shadows danced.
I fell down to the thorny [bad word] And felt the trembling hands.

When the last light warms the rocks,
And the rattlesnakes unfold,
Mountain cats [bad word] To drag away your bones.
And rise with me forever,
Across the silent sand,
And the stars will be your eyes,
And the wind will be my hands.