Open Season for Vision, II
In New Mexico, she sd
open vision alla time.
In New Mexico the air so thin,
vision rarefied,
fists becoming fingers each morning,
asparagus in the eyes.
Things emblazoned into themselves,
everything still, purple-orange rock
spread like steppes across land.
Round hollowed sound of caves.
In New Mexico she sd,
everything all around to be seen,
air like dry ice.
You walk out into it.
You swallow the air like so.
In New Mexico
you become as pure as the air.
4.31.68
-Norm Moser
