Tuesday, March 24, 2020

What the Wren Said

The hills are green between the blue peaks and
Yellow valley, the lavender's full of bees,
Hummingbirds scream for creosote nectar.

It's a good year for the ocotillo,
Improving the brood with magnificent buds
Waved like coquelocot handkerchiefs at the sky

That moves its white forms across the canyon
As the wind tries to turn over every stone
But can't dislodge one living crusty jewel.

I will find the desert willow in the dry stream bed,
Or go higher, to the crackle of the final palms
With their hanging black berries.