My father drove me through Death
Valley under radio light.
He hung snakes along the fence line,
I observed the dripping lake. Insomnia started
when I was a girl. A ghost unstitched me
from the hour,
carried me to the cacti,
each spike an arm
on the clock
of the mountain,
the purple distance
between valley and headlight. Now, when I come to this place,
I must enter naked. Announce the ugliness
of myself. My sleep in the distance. A bed in a truck,
barreling.