ARIZONA DESERT

The morning I first drove down
the ribbon that split the desert,
the sun scorched land seemed a senseless
repetition, and imitation of one square
foot bludgeoned by daylight like the wax
from a thousand candles melted and poured
into an incomprehensible slab.

As my odometer counted, I watched the same spot,
or so I thought, stay and felt myself stray.
All Hebrew letters look the same to me
because I've spent no time learning how
to tell them apart, the longer
I looked at the desert, the more
I saw the beauty hidden from me
at first glance.

Not a single note, but an infinite theme
and variations becoming more clear with
each turn through the original statement
and I realized that like immortality
it had been there from the start.

— john yancura