Winter Poem in the Fan Palm Oasis

Before first light I imagine how people lived here once,
wrapped in blankets in their thatched palm huts.
I listen to the rustle of the palm leaves in the soft wind
and I think it has a human touch, the talk of trees
in times like these full of fast paced lives, portable, always new.
I am trying to take to the heat of the day later on,
warm up in a cold time, a time of quiet and regeneration.
The lizards are running in the light, and the sun is on the mesquite
blooms and I am trying to do the same, lightening who I am, ready
to start over again in the moonlight by the time it is dark,
and I am out checking for visible stars, nameable ones,
constellations easy to see with the naked eye,
looking up without consternation or the fullness of how busy things
are at the start of another time of year. Winter in the deep desert
takes over the heart and like any solace
heals, the sky’s embraces, the clouds covering the mountaintops,
the flowers blooming in the garden, the sunflower’s
strong yellow petals forming a perfect circle and the purple heather,
the tiniest of its petals blooming in the night, small gifts for any one
alone in such a world, when the moon is ablaze with light.