El Agua

To quench a great desert thirst,
There must be the waters from millions of freshly milked cacti,
Plus the nectar of droves of honeysuckle-fed hummingbirds,
And a cool pool de puro, puro agua.

Puro, puro agua, descends from up above
At times in drenches, then in meager sprinkles
The dusty desert air is cleansed and purified
while the creosote bush emits it's earthy scent

The chaparral smells of rain and hope,
That grasses grow and branches bud.
Soon cacti bloom like expectant mothers,
And the prickly pear gives birth to its namesake.

A blistering sun again beats down creating waves on the horizon
Ever changing, solar flares erupt off the surface like flames at the gates of Hell.
A salty sweat breaks out and runs down the brow
While the thirst builds deeply within the northward wanderer.   

The desolate desert awaits the monsoon,
A deluge that can cool the brimstone,
And relieve the angst and desperation
Of a parched and blistered earth.


​                                                                               Vic Martinez and Roger Rios
​                                                                                August 26, 2014