“Pandemic New Moon”

100 degrees in Bakersfield by noon

And I am still in Utah

Following a sliver of dark red moon

Above the wrinkled mountains

Our breath has always been

What makes us vulnerable

In language, in love

In Tehachapi at dawn

a man asks

if I can spare some gas

Trying to get to Fresno dropped

a thousand bucks on his transmission

At first I say no

Later

He kneels to hold the nozzle tight

To the red plastic container

The Mojave a great bowl

Slowly filling with sky

His forearms are beautiful

faded tattoos and sun-bleached hairs

Each moment a tiny death

And all of us

Following the urgent transits of our lives

Our own warm bodies

Wanting exactly what they want

In this world that has never not once been safe