Snippets
The clouds hold
in orbit
around this bit
of salty desert.
I see the rain,
warm in the winter
and cool in the summer,
turning hillsides green,
yet I stay anchored
in thirst.
The warm air
taunted the lilies
to unravel too soon
and they withered
beneath necklaces of ice,
their yellow sagging petals
randomly mangled
yet still following sequentially
in waves of winter wind.
The brass turns brown
on the mechanical clock
but its solar and lunar
timing holds true.
I wind its innards
and lift the weights
against gravity
that drives the cycles.
-Robert L. Jackson
