Saguaro dusted in sunlight
Saint Jude strained my neck, so I walked into the Sonoran sprawl
I found myself surrounded by halos glistening amid the chollas
We were all alone together, I in their adobe coat.
Dusk in the cholla garden seeped through my pores to my lungs, eliminating the need for breath
Joshua trees swatted awkwardly at schools of sunbeams
This is a land where there is time enough
This is a land where there is room enough
God delicately planted a saguaro mescal mustache on my forehead.