Truth or Consequences

1.

i watched the sun come up thinking of you 
this morning
2000 miles and 2 hours after it plied its way through the grates on your windows
standing out in the still-dark cold
the faintest lines on the water hinting at light
as i looked east across the lake
i watched the porchlight of a neighbor 
blinking-- on then off and back on-- a beacon
beckoning to me perhaps
covert pre-dawn signals
or a message to a nearby mothership
likely in this neighborhood
shorebirds and quail giving the forecast and news report
jackrabbits chasing each other under the bushes past cacti
this happens every day
(something no one ever bothers mentioning)

2.

to start there's a warning
coldest time of the night and the stars start fading
the slight blue of well-lit sky outlines the mountains
climbing higher
followed by orange or gold
then there's nothing to do
but wait
stand shifting feet for warmth
sit on a bench out of the wind and stare
listening to birds and the creaking of your buttoned leather coat with each breath
the almost full moon slipping parallel
the cacti and bushes and junipers take shape from phantom shadows

the first blinding beam between two mountains
and you're off the bench and back up the stairs
all but two stars have signed off
the sun moves perceptibly
faster than the minute hand
ticking up the sky burning off some horizon clouds
and it's reveille
dawn sunrise daybreak
this happens everyday
(in case you forgot)
time for breakfast and school and boats on the lake to come home with fish to fry

3.

i stand outside in the desert cold
looking east across Elephant Butte Lake
each time i step out for a smoke
as the moon lights the scrub and houses enfolding them in vague daylight
and a schizophrenic light switch flipper signals to me from a nearby porch
i think of New York
quiet at 4AM in Harlem on a rooftop struggling to see a star
i think of how far off it is
hoping i�ll be there sooner
sitting in Smith�s bar with a Grand Marnier
always my last drink of the evening
getting ready for a windy walk to an uptown subway
to swallow the last of the night
waking the next day to dive into my new ideas
i think of all the things that have stacked up
to drag me to New York
finally outweighing everything else in my life
long enough to transplant me
from desert canyons of stone and sand and brush to desert canyons of grey night buildings and
        wrought iron and slate sidewalks