Ocotillo

Amid the rocks strewn by the Eocene Epoch,

And somewhere near Emory Peak,

The cold silence of the canyons and the mesas of the Chisos

Sounds like this

“__…____.___..____”

Punctuated by the Morse Code

Of the high chapparal and the playful pouldeau

But mostly just this

[ ]

Into which the Ocotillo announces

Here I Am.