The Best Astrologer Is the Devil

Sinister, the sun sinks, and to my right
A pine tree lights in anticipation
Of night. Poor, bent, beautiful, giant tree,
It is as out of place in this desert
As the city fathers who planted it,
As the cemeteries and golf courses
Surrounding it, as the snow white temple
Painted and plastered onto the red rocks,
As me. There was a Spanish novelist
At the parliament of carts. This one time.