Prickly Pear

The sun’s rays are horizontal,
flat, clear and yellow.
Rocks turn
the rich orange of the sand.

Desert wind delights in its power
to abrade the skin
of even tough desert plants.

The fruit of the prickly pear
is replete with thorns
that must be burned before peeling.

The sweetness of the pulp makes it worth it,
a singular evening dessert.

After eating, I bed down on sand,
the sun gone down
in a fragile and dangerous land.

My shoes and flashlight I keep close,
my glasses within reach of my hand.