That morning
reckoning the day’s coming heat,
my eyes ponder the thickness of morning mists
against low slung hills.
Early clearing means desiccation for every
lip, brow and leaf scattered across this
hot sprawling urban carpet.
And up there in the canyons,
the spring green grasses
that earlier rode the hills,
tossed with lively signatures of
rust colored poppies, have all withered.
The yellow freckles of wild mustard
and scotch broom remaining there,
disappear a little each day.
Soon deer and coyote will come forward
into the oak strewn gorges,
dodging cars, desperate for water
with the scent of wild mint and anise
hovering on their dusty fur.
There, a pile of coyote scat marbled with
bits of rabbit pelt sits next to
a graffiti covered stop sign
shimmering in the heat.
We all hunt the shade.
