Desert Dweller

Miniature versions of mother quail
follow across solar-heated sand.

Tall grasses oscillate,
shrill wind whistles over ancient seabed.

Lips crack, blisters burn,
lungs labor as weary legs give way
to creosote mountain, ocotillo valley.

Everything ends,
sometimes sooner than expected.

If I stop to rest in the shade of this mesquite,
will the horned lizard hear my final breath?

© 2026 Bruno Talerico
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