Embudo Canyon

I wait for
the thermal imprint
of the sun
upon my pasty
white skin,
unprotected
by cotton
or lotion screens,
while the wind
jitters
the rabbitbrush
with miniature
dust devils
that fail to prevent
a canyon towhee
from its backward
ground scratch
and peck
as a riven
piñon branch
metronomes
that music
I feel
more than
hear.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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