Tuscon Girl

I like rays and orange days

And things that are alive;

If I played where Nickel stays, 

I don’t think I’d survive.

Instead, I seek the Tuscon girl

Who lives upon the scarp.

She comes out in a wicked whirl

To play her bluestem harp.

She sings about her clever crimes

Across the lily turf.

She walks in couplets, speaks in rhymes

On waves of heat like surf.

The sky is white, the flurries bite,

I think I’d rather burn.

I hug my shoulders, think of light,

And wait for her return.