Things different over there
the words for them different
the things themselves

all the same

she put her flesh
in the mouth of a coyote
so that he would take her

a cross

to mark the place
where someone
died trying

two white sticks

the ghost of cactus
and the clouds
back and forth

over our heads

an edge of thinking
beyond which we don’t go
to save face

which is burning

the other country so close
one good arm
could break a window