The desert during monsoon is greener,
like wetback hope,
how it overcomes acacia thorns
and trails through nettle,
how migrant feet outrun floods
through mosquito canyons,
like ankles roll on rocks
and jump back up…
like cool tears that drop from blisters.
Monsoon green shades resident quail,
quail and timorous rabbit.
Its blooming calls through corridors
to orange butterflies, purple birds,
to people who follow on foot,
leaving to live.
When desert ocotillo forests turn
and harvest moons ripen over orchards,
armies of ladders lean against trees,
waiting, chink-chinking change–
what migrants come for,
while irritable autumn wasps graze
at so many, many heavy tables.