By Julie Flanders
Cacti standing with their noses in the air
Dreaming of arms
They will have one day
A century from now
One among them does a sun salutation
Like some ancient yoga instructor
Ineluctably praising the source of all creation
Arms rising in permanent elation
I miss you here
Where each tiny patch of green
Is the fiercest miracle I have ever seen
Where the desert and the chapped mountains
Make me appreciate the thoughtless fountains of Manhattan
And the soft, color-bent satin of flowers
In the classic garden where I sit with you
And stare out at the square foothills of Fifth Avenue
Yesterday I saw a small yellow bloom growing
Amid the vicious scrub of weeds that spread
On this loom of desert
Where I could believe that nothing grows
And yet this tiny flower was as thrilling as any rose
My thoughts of you today are like thoughts of the sea
Spilling limitless beauty and power
Far away from me
And as I sit and marvel at these desert skies
As blue as the ocean of your eyes
I remember that once, long ago
There was water here
Deep enough to fill the canyons
The cactus still remembers that
And reaches down where the earth is dry
To pull its water toward the sky
Each limb a green and pink and breathing fountain
And then I think of you again
And see the mountain
October Process 