Desert road, strait as an arrow
Lingering on; like an endless narrow
panorama of brush, rocks, happen-stance
Desert nothing, the bore has me entranced.
But from that lonely road I've seen
A hawk take flight, the beating of eagle wings
Coyote and antelope across the road have raced
Wildlife spots this barren waste.
And on this desert people have lived
But some with no livelihood have fled
Abandoned relics whisper their cry.
But also spotting the barrenness those who've survived
Those who have fought the land, and held.
Held onto their way of life--won't let it die.
This is a Duckwater era poem, when we lived on the desert. We are one of those families who fled.