Tucson moonrise, paint my skin rust,
coyote choir in the backseat dust.
Your Polaroid smile on the dashboard fades,
like cheap motel paint in the monsoon shades.
I keep rolling west till the saguaros wave,
each needle a promise I couldn’t save.
Send me one bead of your summer rain—
I’ll park by the mission, hear the long freight train
whistle your name through the copper night,
Tucson, my fever, my compass, my flight.