by Holly Blumenthal
two rocks stand in the desert
wind chuffs the sand in the scrub
riffles the nest, telling the sun
time to rise.
two shapes move against the lightening sky.
breakfast is nothing but the air against body, windshield, wing
moving forward into the day, checking the lay of the two rocks.
the two rocks see the day come
sit quiescent under the noon
while the endless blue eye drives the small creatures to shelter.
keep the heat while the day flees,
ribbons of light following at the high vantage
while the red sink of atmosphere trails into dark.
rain graces the night once a year
and seeds quicken, life flows.
desert light blossoms on the mountains.
only a few will brave the shadows the world throws up
between granite and film, dream and flight.
the two rocks lean close, watch the night
remembering the lovers who circled them briefly.
they whisper with the slow wind of eons
the eastern sky brings a light
that sets flame to hearts behind glass
across a small planet.
two rocks sit in the fleeting dawn
and laugh to recognize its passage.