American West

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I love the red and orange
Marbled rock of the desert
With those spatters of cacti.
There’s zero symmetry,
Nature being nature.
A large bird that makes its home
Out here dives down and picks off
A small, desert dwelling reptile.
And the bird goes back to the sky.
That is how it all operates, life.
But it is the most compelling
Character of the landscapes.
The desert is a hero,
But conflicted.
Once in a while, it storms
As if it has never known a storm
In its long, savage history.
It’s beautiful, tiger stripes
Decorating the rock,
But it’s unaware of this
As it fights with self,
The struggle of a land of plenty,
But heat that fries the bones.
There are layers to that rock,
Showing the scars of time.
There are still trails,
You can see them interwoven
Where horse hooves
Made their mark.
It’s a deadly place of pains
But it’s full of wonder,
The sort that makes you wander
Around those ancient monuments
And hope our hands do not extend
Our reach so much, so far,
That we scrape that landscape
For more commercial space.