In the desert, I listen, plants speak

In the desert, I observe

plants show how to survive


In the desert, I let my guard down

plants sit patient

In the desert, I entrust the tender bits

Plants are with me as I lay them down


I always ask permission: to leave ragged and sharp remnants of a romantic relationship beside a driveway in the generous pads of a nopal cactus, to “bury” racist, ableist people in their own small underground graves

in my front yard,

on a rocky slope,

under an old oak tree,

to leave unanswered questions and pain borne from an imperfect parental relationship with dancing grasses next to Sandhill Cranes who sing to each other as they glide over the ephemeral water plain


I always acknowledge, always thank








mutual regeneration