Thursday, July 30, 2015


by David Chorlton

There’s a flower in the desert
where a man lay down and died, a cactus
blooming at the spot
he put his backpack down,
and a trail of yellow blossoms leading
to the tree beneath which
he sought shade near the end.
                                                 And they bloom,
the penstemon, ocotillo, and mesquite,
again and again, with each returning year.

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