Work Text:
I
Among the billowing sands of the desert,
The only still thing
Was the prickly majesty of the cactus.
II
I am of three minds,
Like a cactus
Bearing blossoms, thorns, and flesh.
III
The cactus stood tall in the desert winds.
It was a small fortress amidst turmoil.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a cactus
Are a lot of griping over a few prickles.
V
I do know which to prefer,
The bristling spines of the cactus
Or the hidden thorns of the rose,
The acceptance of self
Or the pretentiousness.
VI
Sand crusted his window
And made it blind.
The shadow of a cactus
Marked it with limbs and trunk.
He smiled,
Whispering to the dusty desert,
"This little place..."
VII
O low man of Desperation,
Why do you wish for such power?
Do you not see how the cactus
Stands quietly in her strength
And wants for nothing?
VIII
I know now how to love
And to be quiet, soft, and gentle;
But I know, too,
That the cactus depicts
Everything I truly am.
IX
The cactus growing by the road
Marked the edge
Of wilderness pressed to civilization.
X
At the sight of cacti
Growing in a prickly line,
Even those of the great cities
Would worship in the desert.
XI
He rode through Nevada
On a motorbike.
Once, a cactus thorn pricked him
When he mistook
A thing wild, untamed, and free
For a human being.
XII
The desert is still.
The cactus must be dreaming.
XIII
It was a golden afternoon--
Nevada sun on blowing sand.
The winds, the sand, the sun grew thicker--
But the cactus waited,
The prickly calm in the storm.