Dry air sucks me toward the stark pines in concert on the mountain, silhouettes of women re-assemblng. I love this brown place where flashes of strata show flesh centuries of bark and moon. I drink this place like hard water. I navigate an older childhood of alcohol and noises behind adobe walls. I climb crumbling brown earth and love what others discard. We assemble as slim vials assemble as stories. I drive the whimsy map of maternal pines with tiny nuts to bite down on. This gritty ride is nearly angelic. Assemblage. My hand on the steering wheel, a learned behavior. I saunter in exodus, dressed all in gray with flames of Fall breaking from mottled cottonwood. Enchantment the given adjective. Brown and lavender hues like birds that punctuate the night. Book splayed on the passenger seat beside me. M ud clarified with rain. Read more, The Shape of Caught Water available from Red Mountain Press or directly f