Allison Meraz Monsoon A coyote crosses at the light like a good girl going home with a mouthful of gray feathers. Desert sky cracks. Floods. Gutterless streets turn to holy sluices and offerings surge, cups and cans, roadkill. Birds have fled through their fair warning, gone home with the coyote, nighttime stalkers. Downpour makes humans of them all. Pink lightning flicks the valley of telescopes. Undercover, the saguaros gorge, their fruits set for darkness.

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