Everything’s so dry
you could blow it all
away in a breath.
But what ardor,
what succulence—
flowers colorful
as clowns,
few and florid,
stems prickly
as pikes,
birds noisome
nearby,
sun an impossible hue
that won’t die
till the latest hour.
Nightfall is when
everything comes out,
including us
with our winy friends
toasting another
wild day
with the desert.
