Tuesday, March 25, 2014

In This Desert

Tell me, steadfast green, your secrets.
How, even in desert span, you so prettily infest;
lend color to this dry, drab dust.
This broad expanse of brown:
brown trunks climbing
out of brown, sandy grime. 
Brown needles scaling
 up and banding cacti.  Green stalks
turned sun-burnt brown.

Tell me how to breathe here; thrive
in deprivation; stain a barren landscape fresh and then fade in dignity
in domination of desolation.

Tell me, God of green, God of brown; Jealous for me God,
your holy secrets.  How, even in this desert span, you enter,
lend life to these dry bones.
Tell me how to breath here, thrive,
find gratitude, color abundance fresh and then fade in sacrifice
against domination of demands.

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