In the afternoon the wind brings the dust
clouds of it come up from the valley
to invade the silent streets
small animals hide in crevices
now we are all hunkered down
awaiting the quiet of dusk

In the mornings I walk the range
where the air is clear and cool
the city below glimmers
its metal rooved armor
protecting it from the glare

I toss a rock to the gods
and it tumbles out of sight below
shaking the cacti in its descent
this very afternoon the rains will come
then the hard spirit is lifted
with the quenching of the dust