Things different over there the words for them different the things themselves

all the same

she put her flesh in the mouth of a coyote so that he would take her

a cross

to mark the place where someone died trying

two white sticks

the ghost of cactus and the clouds back and forth

over our heads

an edge of thinking beyond which we don’t go to save face

which is burning

the other country so close one good arm could break a window