You, who have known her wretched, spiny embrace.
You, who has known the thorny comfort of the deserted road.
If you had taken a walk with me today,
You would have seen the hard won beauty of this world.
You would believe in hope. Transformation. Renewal.
With each throb of pink on the beaver tail cactus, your heart would pulse.
You would ask me the name of the blossom over there.
I don't know, I would reply,
But I'll give you twenty adjectives instead.
There is a joyful wonder in describing rather than naming.
But oh nomenclature, how we love you.
You help us to know a place, and in the knowing, we become known.
And in the knowing, we understand the depth of loving.
I wish you were here to know this place in springtime with me.
You, who love the desert in spite of her desiccation and spines.
Then you would be stilled with the understanding
--creeping up in that fashion of the desert--
that you are loved.
Because we know that in those prickles, a flower will unfold.
After the dry spell, flesh will reappear.
It is true.
I saw it in the desert today.
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