Marfa, TX

To I. J.

All the locals tell us to stay

and I hope that we do—

air conditioning,

a grand piano under 

a weathered roof.

A cactus flower on the roadside 

shoulder and you on mine. 

I tell you that I love you

and you ask me for proof—

watching my hands closely 

as I write out another line. 

The dirty hippies in the desert 

that’s who I’m hoping to be.

Living a mile high under mountains 

sculpted in the shape of your fingers

on the keys when you dedicate

another love song to me. 

A long train runs through the town

flashing light between every 

freight car while passing through.

This feels like an old love

like we’ve done this before. 

You tell me how Strawberry Woman

isn’t the right name for that song

while the sunburn hides your

blush when I call you mine. 

I’ll give you my hat and let you

hang it wherever you need me. 

It’s darkest before the dawn,

so stay up— watch the lights.

We can sleep under the sun

whenever morning comes. 

Bluebonnets in hill country

tied me down—

Marfa tied me to you 

‘cause even desert heat 

doesn’t have a heart like you do.