here in the desert sunrises bleed colors
that stain the eyes
and mornings carry the silence of sand
birdsong and this winter’s
tiny waterfall spilling
under the bridge
if I sit by the pool I can pick up my
hot skin and move it under the umbrella
to start a poem and finish in the cool
shadows that wave in an afternoon breeze
which makes what lives in the heat
and plays dodge ball with death
all the more fragile
all the more beautiful
before night falls
and the stars crowd together
to watch a fat desert moon
waddle across the sky
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