The desert doesn’t hold onto its moods.
When the sun leaves with his heat
in a temper tantrum of orange blaze,
the desert lets him go
and welcomes the cool darkness.
The mountains embrace change too.
Their winkles deepen through the day
until their faces are gin-blossomed purple
and their cheekbones turn up
to witness stars popcorn out of the fading blue.
Change sometimes comes slow in the desert
but desert is patient
Waiting a season for rain to wash the dust away.
Waiting a year to see the cereus flower and its moth lover.
Waiting a hundred years to sprout a saguaro arm.
Yet when changes comes,
when lightning breaks the sky into mosaic pieces
and monsoon rushes in to flood the tree wells,
desert knows that after the pain
will come flowers and cactus fruit
and color and life
and that without rain
without heart break
without hard lessons
even the dust would be no more.