Desert Canyon
by Patty Mooney

When I get home and peel my clothes off
I see how the desert loved me:
random scratches, ocatillo kisses,
yucca piercings, my skin
dotted in angry reds, no-see-'em bites.
On my thigh in the shape
of a mirthful sun, a bruise
inches from the palm-fringed
canyon, where my legs part
in the searing heat.

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