Baja

The desert flower blooms with the crispness of a popcorn wrapper, dry to the touch but invested with the hidden love of an underground spring.

Full moons rise over the sage brush hills, saguaro cactus and palo d’arco, acacia in the wet valleys.

Tragedy is the song the desert bird sings, missed opportunities, abandoned plans in the rusting shell of a car that lost control on the highway.
Dust hangs in the air, on the avocado trees, beneath the dog’s paw.

The poet’s mouth is full of dust.