Letter From the Desert: Still processing those fires

The desert empties out. This summer’s skies
Have been devoid of nighthawks’ evening flash.
Grasses from elsewhere, rampant, colonize
The empty space, ignite, reduce to ash
Whole hillsides full of life. These are the days
I feared, the turning of these desert lands
To wastelands, lands of fire that raze
These ancient trees, no laying on of hands
Or call to arms …