It's strange, I can hear her voice in the tight air of black tyres.
'Primitive, from the primordial slime.'
Pumping through
Clapperboarded silence,
And the swish, swish of a sprinkler's twist.
The tiny drops arc in a delicate haze.
Keeping spongy, thick bladed verge grass like.

The silent bird sitting on one of many wires.
Its tiny body colourless against the weight of sky.
The towering, turning turbine desert.
The new windmills taking over the palms of Palm Springs.

The red of distant barns.
The endless blue sky.
The endless blue sky and tendrils of cloud.
The endless blue sky and a mountain storm.
The endless grey sky and its dark waterfalls of rain stripped by thunder bolts.