I settle upon prehistoric stones,
feel I might tumble to Earth's very core
Squint across valleys of Time's brittle bones
imagining waves that lap here no more


A spine of dark mountain hunches ahead
halts the expanses of brown, white and gray
To the west, an oasis arose from the dead,
now a green pulse calling people to play


The air holds my face in its papery hand,
drinks from my skin, caresses my hair
Sweet scents of salvia rise from this land
to say "Notice well what has always been here."