What I Know

I can tell you about cactus, about cacti
– from the family Cactaceae –
that outnumbered people in the desert where I grew up.

The edge of town marked the rim of the known world,
like an ancient map with boundaries emblazoned in black ink:

Beyond this point there be dragons and unspeakable apparitions.

Grizzly bear cactus, with four-inch claws, grows sharp and wide
across hillsides while along valley floors in the high desert lands,
barrel cactus gather in groups like fat sisters in tight ribbed sweaters
awaiting their beaus. The vain saguaro reaches into the night sky
to pluck stars from the eyes of gods.

You see, I once kept company with lizards and toads and tiny birds
that nestle between thorns in the crevices of cactus bark.

I know soft desert flowers, painted pink and yellow, sometimes red,
that spread like a magnificent carpet to the far mountains
in the breath of a moment each spring, where delicate daisies
need no reason beyond irresistible urge to leap to life
beneath your feet, and skies blaze so blue that even Olympus envies.

And, I know of a place deep within the white heart
of the outland where you can fall into forever
as easily as tripping over a sleeping dog in your living room.