You leave the pages and the ink
The bookstore smells of old wet zinc
You trade the paper for the heat
Where desert sand meets asphalt street
Saguaro spines against the blue
The dry air makes the vision true
You pace the porch in golden glare
A heavy scent of sage in air
Your paws remember grit and stone
A wilder seed that you have sown
The red clay soil is warm and deep
While all the tired travelers sleep
You watch the Opuntia bloom
A sudden flash in twilight gloom
The salty wind begins to blow
And tells you it is time to go
Saguaro spines against the blue
The dry air makes the vision true
You pace the porch in golden glare
A heavy scent of sage in air
The roots are reaching for the well
A thirsty sort of magic spell
You feel the pull of distant ground
Where only quietness is found
The motel key is rusted red
You find a place to lay your head
The Latin names are in your mind
The kind of peace you had to find
Saguaro spines against the blue
The dry air makes the vision true
You pace the porch in golden glare
A heavy scent of sage in air
Just a cat on a wooden floor
Walking through the open door Golden glare.
Saguaro blue.
