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They tell you
the desert is a liar.
But I say,
it’s a revealer of secrets.
There is no blistering
the sun can’t reveal,
no buried corpse
the sun won’t bleach.
The dark and wet
obscure things,
but lay your hand
on the desert at night,
its blue darkness
will rise up in you—
tremoring like cicadas
somewhere far off,
rumbling underneath,
black
to match your puddled eyes
and clinging, savage hair—
black, to pull the darkness
stretching out into the light.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner