August afternoons.
The rise and fall of cicadas,
humming in the hills that hold up stalks of jewels:
cherry tomatoes that fall at the graze of a finger
Tracing the lichens blanketing the rock walls
and the water that drips down the rocks:
spiraling around a curious hand
then settling in the crevices of a patchwork of tiny worlds,
where in the desert plains and plateaus of sediment,
small forests of moss dot the landscape.
The string of rain coasts through the hills and valleys
Pooling across the stones in warm ponds and slipping below the surface
Stepping on the stones, bubbles fizz and pop as water escapes at the edges.
In a bright haze, the orange tangerine far above breaks through the gray.
Amidst the storm, the tangerine glows brighter,
until a hand reaches for it and twists it out of the sky,
and its juices drip down the rocks, tinging the lakes with sweetness.