Looking for the Marfa Lights

by Keith Polette

It is best to approach from the west on Hwy 90 with a full tank of gas and a slice of tres leches cake from L & J’s in El Paso, which you’ve kept in the cooler (in case you need a ready sacrifice). Lose your expectations and approach on a night when the stars have pulled up stakes. Keep track of the floaters in your eyes. Remember to speak softly to whatever is rumbling behind your strongest persona. This is how you can invite the light. Clean the windshield of its Pollack-painting of bugs and give away any loose change in your pockets.

night drive
when the only detour
is the moon

Avoid other light-lookers. They have gathered to see a spectacle, a Godot, or something like it. Remember, though, that the night sky is shaped like a bowler hat and that your shadow will lead you deeper into the desert of yourself. Light can only be found in the darkest place. Do not be troubled by the fact that some trees never spout leaves.

solo hitchhiking . . .
the long dark stretches
between friends

Recall your latest dream. Resist the temptation to shoehorn it into your daylight understanding. Don’t put your trust in easy repetitions. Rely on your fingertips; they can nose out the spirit in the dry earth. They can open your eyes.

oneiric adventure
a cathedral erupting
into night birds

Drive steadily, as if your car were in a trance. Play no music. Even if a wave of grief overcomes you, be steadfast, do not let up on the gas. When you’ve driven far enough, pull onto the shoulder of the road. Get out. Let the night settle around you like a dog circling before lying down. Stand with open arms. Let the light come like a love you lost long ago or a bone you are about to break.

in the distance
the coal-fire of a coyote’s eyes
burning through you

Keith Polette has published poems in both print and online journals. His book of haibun, Pilgrimage, received the Haiku Society of America's Merit Book Award in 2021. He lives and writes in El Paso, Texas.