I travel.
I think about love.
I try to make connections.
I'd like a girlfriend and you could be my bowl of fruit,
my prickly pear, my cactus.

Flowers bloom in the desert after it rains.
Not long. Not often.
Love's like that.
Like old maps.
Interesting because they are usually wrong.
More imagination than coordinates.
We must be happy with what is.

So where am I? Where are you?
The rain is discouraging but good in the desert.
Though my socks are wet
I see a bright future for that mesa, that mountain.

They are forever.
We are mist and magic.