Lizard scales flake from the sun in July,the flickers drill downinto patches of lawnand the ghosts of the Hohokam sleepuntil nighthawks sharpen their wings. Then comes the timeby starlight and streetlight and lightancient memory caststo wander light of step. Gate here,shadow there, a clusterof thorns and a fence giving waywhile asphalt dreams. There’s a desertunderground, a highwaythrough the sky,the clock sweats minutes threeto four to doves and thirstand the mountain’s breath followsthe wash where allit takes is waterfor a miracle occurring. Just seehow a coyote passesthrough a cinder block wall.