. . A poem a day
                                    28 August 1999


Wind? Oh, no, my friend,
No wind here.
The polveradas?
No, there is no wind.
It's just the land.

Green? Oh, you mean
The little leaves on
The ocotillo?
No, no life here,
It's just the land.

Sunset? You mean the sky?
It never sets here,
It lives in the rocks
Even at night.
It's just the land.

People? Where'd they go?
Oh, si, they are here.
Some in bone, some in leather.
There's no death here,
Just the land.

- Lorin Emery