You fold the map near Tucson station
Blue ink bleeds across the nation
Red line ends at saguaro shadow
Survey stakes lie broken random
Highway shadows cool your fingers
Camera clicks the sleeping signs
Every mile a still frame lingers
Time dissolves in copper lines
Desert map beneath the overpass
Eighteen eighty-two won't last
You shoot the grid the lines the glass
Watch the future turn to past
Shutter clicks hold nothing fast
Legend marks a station phantom
Survey stakes lie broken random
You trace the ghost with fingertip calm
Midnight knows the damage done
Highway shadows cool your fingers
Camera clicks the sleeping signs
Every mile a still frame lingers
Time dissolves in copper lines
Desert map beneath the overpass
Eighteen eighty-two won't last
You shoot the grid the lines the glass
Watch the future turn to past
Shutter clicks hold nothing fast
Wind lifts corners tastes like iron
Corner dates read seventy-two
You frame the myth you frame the ruin
Light leaks through the torn perimeter blue
Desert map beneath the overpass
Eighteen eighty-two won't last
You shoot the grid the lines the glass
Watch the future turn to past
Shutter clicks hold nothing fast
Negative dries on dashboard warm
Chemicals bloom in afternoon
Map folds smaller in your palm
Desert swallows up the June
Desert map beneath the overpass
Eighteen eighty-two won't last
You shoot the grid the lines the glass
Watch the future turn to past
Shutter clicks hold nothing fast
Film canister rattles in your pocket
Bus ticket stubs a folded locket
Map dissolves but negatives hold
Stories that the desert told
Desert map beneath the overpass
Eighteen eighty-two won't last
You shoot the grid the lines the glass
Watch the future turn to past
Shutter clicks hold nothing fast
Paper burns but silver stays
Desert keeps the locked away