Colors smeared in vacillating, rising heat,
red tinged and shimmering haze,
the azure sky, endless,
melds into the sun’s harsh glare,
and eyes seek refuge into the shadows cool.
The desert is alive with silent,
tenuous hearts beating,
buried deep in repose,
awaiting the dark rapture,
and dust alone weaves its errant path,
stinging sand in solemn sprays of spite
hone the desolation.
A godless state it seems,
this red parched pariah,
when cacti still, wound in leather-ed wax,
hold their breath,
frozen in the fires of a berating sun,
and water sunk to far depths,
to escape the fray.
Dry, shriveling air, pounding,
intermittent gales sweep the flat,
and the wind cries,
moans for all the death that once echoed here,
lost to harsh and unforgiving life.
How sweet when that exhausted sun relents,
to fall to slumber,
beneath a blanketed horizon,
and azure turns to hues of purple night,
where stars dare to invade,
like pinpricks in the sky,
their light a memory of when once that sun did glare.
Tony DeLorger © 2017