Cinquain
In the
Valley of the Sun
Visions
in my mad mind—
I seek shelter from heat
in a Saguaro's slim shadows
at noon.
Yucca
blooms bend in winds
from distant mountain peaks;
soaring on thermals, two golden
eagles.
—the
night,
alive with sounds,
whispers on sandy winds—
ti-pi-ya-oh, call the drovers
voices.
Full moon—
a coyote
slinks through the dark mesquite;
in the distance the Estrella
Mountains.
At dawn
a glint of light
reflects in the broad curves
of Gila River—the
crops lush
and green
