–If I Had Not Gone to Santa Fe

If I had not gone to Santa Fe,

if I had not touched the decaying swirl
of Art Deco: Route 66 in Albuquerque,

if I had not walked the Anasazi ruins, a hard
crust of earth beneath my feet and harsh
and barren mountains drawing the horizon,

if I had not remembered that Tibetan horsemen still ride
down the hills, their hair braided in fleas and turquoise,

or watched, once in a blue moon, as the Bombers
in the Bronx stroked their way into November’s sky
while distant bombs lit the bone-colored Afghan winter,

if none of this had been, would I have dared the terrible
thought?–that terrorists and all the world find bleak things,
no less than startling ones, quite thrilling.

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