Gold Rush

Along the river
you spot, hidden
among the rocks,

a small opening.
You’ve traced
the Rio Grande

for weeks now,
your old red eyes
aging in unending

sun, until this:
Brushing aside
the coyote willow

you stoop inside
and nothing
about your life

remains the same:
in your veins,
as in the cave’s

you see glimpses
of opportunity,
the very rock

aglow in electric
light. Your nerves
crackling, shiver

-wracked relearning
of how it’s possible
to change.