View of the Dead

I didn't look for you anymore

in black birds streaking the sky

or listen for you

in leaves whispering our names,

and even when the sun fired down

behind the Texas hills I was driving by

it wasn't you, really, that I saw

in the derricks rising up from the ground

in electric silhouette,

but rows of negligees,

black lace cables joined

by wires thin as threads

one after another against the sky.

It wasn't you-just a mirage of lace

that I hoped might lure you

over the hill, something pretty

enough to wrap yourself in

before settling back down into the night.