The Saguaro won’t save her. Neither will a man,
only the no man’s land clay on her skin.

Lay bare breasted on the earth.

A tree stands skeletal, wanting against
the blue that is blackened, the blue
that sharps a cry in her heart.
Wilderness consumes her peace, darkness
moons over her pale light.

Take the dried leaves for comfort’s nest.

Her fingers rake the barren soil. She knows
this vessel. So much sky and not a drop
to drink, no soul for miles. Here
she can stretch out,
here, she shrinks.

Stay on the ground till your hum is in tune
with the sigh of Earth.

She she she
she she she