Dear Monochrome Heart

          Each night the palo verde glitter bombs
     the windshield in technicolor yellow
what more can I argue against despair?

I’ve written for months
with no reply.
Your lub-lubbing

is louder than a Foley artist’s coconut halves
standing in for horse hooves.
It’s beautiful in this desert

when it thunders. I miss your voice
but it’s recherché to answer the rotary
wearing a pink maribou robe.

I’ve brushed these petals
into one cupped palm
thinking of bees

collapsing in their cells.
We’re turning into elegies.
Dear monochrome heart, tell me

not to love anything harder than feldspar.
When the magician’s Zig-Zag girl steps
out from her cabinet in time

I can’t quit believing you’ll revive.
     These dying blossoms
          constellate miracles for you.