It is like lying beneath burnt ashes A blister on your memory. Beside The rocks two eyes open again.
The tired sky is so dry it breaks And then melts together again and breaks and melts together again; at sunset I nearly cry Soon the clouds will be like that too.
I have been counting down the days until The earth begins to lean away again From the sun.
But who has been counting down the Days until the sun becomes too hot For the earth to touch?Β Β And what will The sky have to say then?
The old man beneath the mesquite tree Whose roots are shallow and wide; It is him who has such thoughts so close to death.