It’s bound to be misunderstood,
and the climate and weather are less than ideal.

You don’t start a commune in Oklahoma.

You run west, instead, to
New Mexico or maybe to Southern Colorado
in the high desert
where it’s freezing at night
and the wind whips away your tears
before they have a chance to wet your cheeks.
You can’t spare the water anyway, because it’s so dry.

Sun shines and clear skies stretch
to rest on mountain peaks
and the morning and afternoon
glows liquid honey.

You understand, in these amber hours
why someone would live here,
paint here,
write here,
and love here.

The beauty is enough to make a nonbeliever
feel the divine.

You don’t start a commune in Oklahoma.

You run away to the desert instead.