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.