Throwing stones at the prickling green
of cacti staring at our dangling toes,
we enter and touch on a tender spot,
and for once forget the irritating sharpness
of our last dance together.
        Focusing attention to our aim,
we allow the delicate swords of our targets to captivate
our eyes away from stinging cheeks,
and permit the abrupt arching of our arms to lessen
the biting rawness of the swelling sun.
       Tired winter plays hide and seek,
and we take our time to count
each and every c l i n g i n g  drop of water and light.
I stop short--as I refuse to disturb
                                                                       a single pebble,
teetering against the slightest part of a thorn,
and against every odd;
    
gravity embraces it to stay.