The sky is parched.
The landscape is scorched.
Brown and gray hang in the air
suspended on shimmering wire.
At night the coyotes lament its passing.
At daybreak life melts into what remains of shadow.
Cool slips from memory
water abandons the mirage
green is consigned to myth.
Soon memory, mirage, myth
will lie face down in the streambed
swallowing the dust where it all began.
That night the coyotes shall remain silent.
The Earth will breathe relief,
and wait for the return of morning rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem