III.
Every seed, spore, semilla, fragmented root,
arriving, perhaps landing,
soon blanketed or blown away,
survival improbable.
But with morning dew or afternoon tormentas,
fluttering flakes or pelting crystals,
milagros grow into purpose,
symbiosis - clinging sand or sandy grasp.
IV.
Every paw, print, slither -
transient huellas left by all that land, even lightly,
and perhaps seen by the few thereafter just in time.
In time to observe and imagine,
to question - what, who, why out here?
Hungering for the transient life track,
escaping from a future death trail,
crossing with a determined purpose,
or more likely wandering in aimless misdirection
or windblown wonder?
20
Cenizo
Second Quarter 2019