Dry/Heat

Soft red sands dance across broad curves of red rock.

The heat presses down from the cool blue sky,

presses up from the oven-like earth,

sucking the water from my cells.

I will dry up and tumble away

like the husk of a once-green bush

blowing across the backdrop of an old Western.

A rhythm (like small beans in a maraca)

erases my breath as I pause to scan--

the coil of scales in shades of brown

perches on the far embankment,

and I breathe again.

The memory of a stream,

this arroyo is a note left to remind the desert to run out for supplies—

pick up some eggs, bread, and definitely               
                     some water.