Coming Home
I had to go east in order to love the west
Filled with man-made oases that should not exist
Where prairie dogs praise the sun from hill’s crest
And there is more space than you can resist.
Where scarcity is the first rule, the air sucks life
And water, leaving us prematurely aged and rough
As a turtles neck. Each life exists on the edge of a knife,
Delicately balanced, only given just enough.
Like the coyote who lived off my family’s pets,
Who survived on our loved ones with no regrets.
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