Late September Sunday Morning

Sol’s long rays illuminate a
cloudless cerulean sky
and yes, I’ll repeat a metaphor
that has served before

long shadows cross the path
nature’s barcoding
shows us where we’re at
analog coding, what a laugh

the Tucson mountains on our left
looking like giant razor fangs
of Rodan or Godzilla raising its head
to swallow Tucson whole

a mottled gray bird of prey
sits at the top of an old
dead witches’ tree
hawkeye boring into me

a trickle of reclaimed water
runs zigzagging in a little gully
down the eastern edge
of the bone-dry riverbed

where brush and grasses
have gone harvest-brown
maybe even dead since
monsoon season’s end

Sol’s infrareds warm my
already tanned skin as the
UVs will darken it more
or add a touch of pink

it may even be sore

–LE – 9/22/24