Here no puny yellow flowers flutter their romance
On sodden banks or sides of grassy meres.
Here the cactus showers purple grapeshot at the sky
Exploding at night with livid reds and pinks,

The softness of its flesh, its pistil's tendrils
Exploding yellow seed as from the sun's womb
Against the satin pink perfection of the flower
A corona's perfect trumpeting of life.

But not for long. Sex is short in the desert.
The blossom wilts, shrivels and then is gone,
Its gentle, warm fragrance sucked off by insects
Its blossom dies and drops and is no more.

The cactus, white spines taut and sharp and body green
Has done its job. Lines are drawn. Drought is coming.
Water is sucked to fill against the coming heat.
Strength is for its core and for another year.