the human desert

I've a distant past
of frequent drumming rain,
green ferns and humming life...

but my geology has turned
and the sun now burns
an alcohol alkali landscape
dry and hoary

but my gifts have sharpened
to cactii points
and my roots have grown
desperate and clever

my distractions are few
(there's little to do)
and my hubris-worn stones
know the order
of composing haiku

lazy birds love the shade
till the pain sun does fade
when they hunt left-over lizards...
modern gaiia is rich
unknown are her gifts
even for the human desert