Durango

   On the ground, we pass

over the short grass, sharp

with the heat as it makes clumps

 with tiny shadows that look like

huts on the prairie

  here and there, little drifts 

of shredded plastic

stuck on bushes and 

making colonies in the 

 brown barbed wire

This nameless field crouching

down at the feet of 

dirty brick gods with

faded signs hushed

full of graffiti and blind doorways

Honestly, it is more a home

than the gardens I have seen

this place where we grew up

and learned to trust each other

and keep our secrets close, my brother.