Hush and drift your dusty fingers over

the downy fluff of blushing Apache plumes.

Hush and hear the yucca pallida shatter

into shades of sage and blue, blooming

clotted angels above a jagged bush.

Breathe and feel the layer of dry coating

your insides, the color of blood and sand.

Breathe and smell the fresh honeyscented

whispers of the blackfoot daisy

hoping to be mistaken for the white zinnia.

Watch the rattlesnake unfurl to carve you

into the dirt. See your face twist with his.

Touch the naked soil, open toward the sky,

cracked and dry, resembling your own skin

stretched out over a smooth white bone.

In the desert is a clarity. You might find it

in the dignified saguaro’s poise, the way

the stones arch up to kiss a weary sun,

in the shapes of shadows resting on the warm,

red earth, waiting for you to rest next to them.