The Arizona Desert
even at high noon
i cannot face this barren field:
the sun, which cremated the dead
and left only white bones,
is still bright as the Inca's
there a crow spreads his wings--
his wings really black
and his beak really red
cactus endured a long dry year
with scarce summer showers;
birds and chipmunks build their homes inside
indians make jellies
from the cautus flowers
and God happily lays out a silver mine
under this cactus field
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