They cling to the earth
like lichens
in deep meditation

Lophophora williamsii.
Fallen warriors sprinkled
throughout the blackbrush and mesquite
there in the valley of the Rio Grande.

They whisper to you
as you roam that arid slab of ground
and spin like Van Gogh
in the night sky
while you sleep.

They call you this way
and that
lead you in directions
you did not intend.

In the dry washes
beware
rattlesnakes wait in every thin patch
of shade

and at night
lightning switches the lights on
and off
and on again.

Once the spirit
of this unassuming succulent
enters into you
accepts you
uplifts you
the sky opens
and reveals the pulsing heart of
God's creation
speaking softly in tongues
heard only at the beginning.

It is glory then.