Shallow wombs rest below a rusting ridge A cavern of stale musk and scattered bones The sky reflects the wound of the setting sun Dusk hushes the voices a of a hot afternoon Beige scatterings of broken backbones and fallen mountains The sky bleeds into the canyon But this blood reveals no pain nor distress An artist, its paints the landscapes and then moves on The tumble weeds the Buddahs complete in their wandering The desert rains if but only once in a while Make Joshua trees sweat and roots descend Night falls spilling its sack of pearls Mischievous coyote sunsets.