The winter palo verde
in the winding corridor of a river gorge…
the height of its remaining strands
better than a skyline
Some branches are scorched,
some as infant green as spring
Curls as wispy as light blue eyes
wrapped around thorns so viscous
you can only stare blankly at the pain
A duality as confounding as she is
as curious as vultures up on the beach

unsettling for most
deliciously intriguing for me
You never get to see them land without a feast
But this isn’t the first time they’ve paused near me to drink
Maybe because I like to stay quiet
vaguely still
We both need this river
They weren’t in a hurry today
weren’t frightened
Maybe they can recognize
a child of low tide
Can recognize
someone who can recognize
all the life that’s revealed in it
Relishes the smell
Knows you can’t get where you’re going without it
A tide kid learns patience, and action
Wait
then bolt
No second chances to get home
The low river lends the grace
to get wherever it might be
or to sit in the deafening, silent hurt of this moment
Before turning back
to the harsh droughted land
that lets you stay
without question

December 28, 2023