Some days, this desert under spells of sun and moon think, I brood in fields of agave blue the angled sun blares sharp to parch to dry, to crackle leaves to dust tricky this prickly pear cactus bitter thorns laden with impossible blood sweet fruit while high and seen out the corner of my eye, the half moon smiles beguiled by the sun.
On days like this cool, with little winds desert birds forage for sticks they build nests perched in cactus some build green in palo verde trees always I think of baby birds in spring hatchlings, the fledglings that fly I travel far beyond the noise of towns watch the movement of cooling clouds the roundness of rain upon the ground the grey banked scurrilous skies of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm daisies that close, cold amid the stones beneath where snakes and lizards go slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
All day long with clouds and birds greens and blues moving through the water I wish my fingers were water color crayons to paint these scenes on leaves of paper to capture water drops on stones, lighter, darker the sky, the soft rain I taste all the ways I lived this day. In the morning to wake up deep and breathing in an ancient forest.
This trouble, like thunder oft in the distance, my heart Oh, it did boom but far off it fades, this trouble disappears in the wave of days, all the ways in which to die then mend the wing again to fly.
Because our days are straying and though the nights are spellbound we are only ever falling away only ever coming and going. Near the blue banked shores we are anchored, bobbing and breathing the clouds are merely sailing ships waves of swirling skies. Upon the tide the moon rips and pulls stars come to swoon and soothe floating in the night lands plush and indigo blue.