The sky is white with heat.
The air blisters.
Joshua trees burn a negative on my eyelids.
I walk the desert creek bed,
turning over the odd fossil.
Beneath my feet, unborn insects
wait for a flood to trigger their birth.
A month of sparkling water
coaxing green from this beige place.
Water, from a stone.
Hard to tell what’s mirage.
Hard to believe in rain.