Lily Garcia

A Desert Dweller’s Reverie

In the bowl of sage scrub,
Is where I reside.

Not the pine-laden,
Steller’s jay haven,
Of the mountainside.

Above the valley floor,
Where air gets thin,
Is the place I’d rather be.

Then the sun drops,
And inky cloaks form
Where mountains once were.

All to see are speckles
Of orange,
Glowing from homes within.

Those lights of far away,
Cause my mind to go further astray…
For now the valley is overwatched.

I am encircled by the eyes of those unknown.

Table of Contents