ten scenes; three – the plain

but mesquite shrubs
for miles
three inches long
the occasional tuft of grass
like razor wire
in the hot breeze

dust devils spin
across the cracked dirt
demons at play
in the sullen sun
the shadow
of circling hawks
the only break
from the pummeling
rays of light

a lone flower
forces it’s way
through the hardscrabble
deep roots
for moisture
in the depths
in the barren nothingness

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