Gray and pink light in the early morning. The trees stirring, birds in song.
Shades of cedar in the desert, umber and hickory. Cliffs the color of roasted sesame seeds.
The dark pink flowers form an arc from the wall to the cars parked on the curb.
He tries to tell a story, but his sentences wind up chasing words he can't remember.
People turning pink in the sun, their bodies stung with salt water. A burning cut on my leg. Cacti springing out of the salty dirt like coils of hair.
The song reminds her of her parents. She gives me the words to tuck into the back of my book and take with me home.
A woman rolls down her stockings and washes her feet in a reeking rest stop.