In Resolute Desert

Morning sand, Harquahala Valley...
Will what I have discovered stay unknown?
Or is my service all that it demands?

The smoke of the dust on the fields...
How could a combined production of God and all the angels
still mean less than one person's opinion?
Why is it that more humans care about an accidental sigh of mine
than a decades-long distilling of the real into song?

In the desolation of the desert,
the humblest branches seem larger than life...
How is it such beauty escapes me and finds no home?
Or am I so large it's enough for me alone?