In Joshua Tree the sun sets Quiet behind sandstone boulders. You are in a caldera formed by Prehistoric volcanic violence And the slow Passage of time. Which is paradoxical since Time has seemed to stop, The sun holding position At the rim of the tallest rock, Casting long shadows All along the basin. Look at you, Casting a shadow as the Dew settles on the boulders Of your sunburned shoulders, Striations etched in flesh granite. Climbable. Conquerable. Dangerous to fall from. Those heights.
To a 6-Year Old Josh
There will be bodies with scars, Bigger, but less noticeable Than yours. There will be keloids burning red, Contractures yellow and orange. You won’t see them Because of how closely they’re clutched, Their owners Squeezing them inside. There will be bodies who envy your scar, Who stare at it in wonder, Because visible scars tell the stories The invisible ones are afraid to speak.