My agave has babies with little blue ears listening to the big blue sky.
New! What?
Gray thoughts arrive, heavy and exciting...
Moisture clings and droplets arrive on the edge of feeling, smoothing into a rhythmic beat and drum, thrum, hypnotize, flows into one stream.
No dusty roads, no dry stones, no old bones, no DEAD END.
Pour and stream.
Flow and clear.
Cool and fresh.
Smooth and pooled.
No ribbed dirt, no stripped damns, no bare stones, no DEAD END.
Evaporation cools, daylight is waking...
Dry light infuses scents of the falling, drowning into the cadenced heat and sun, thrum, hum and buzz, flies into my dream.
Now what?
My agave's new babies have one more ear listening now.



