(triple sec)


dry, dry, dry

weeds, blown to powder

adobe, cracked and crumbled

tongue, parched

nostrils, full of dust

cheeks, cracked

eyes, caked.

skin, blistered

soul, shattered

by hopeless constant baking


shh! Listen. What is that low

distant rumble?

Is it hope?

Is it the song of Isaiah

escorting blossoms back

to our desert?