stone
The winter palo verde
in the winding corridor of a river gorge
The height of its remaining strands
better than a skyline
Half the branches looking scorched
the other half as virgin 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 on the beach
Unsettling for most
Deliciously intriguing to me
You never see them land without a meal
But this isn’t the first time
they’ve paused near me to drink
Maybe because I like being quiet
Vaguely still
He wasn’t in a hurry today
wasn’t frightened
I know he’s not a thorn
Just gets the bad rap all the quiet ones do
Who just want to be left alone
Maybe he 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
And bolt
No second chances to get home
But a low river lends the grace
you need
to get wherever it might be
Back to the harsh droughted land
That lets you stay
without question