In the December desert near the crepuscular
hour many people experience subtle, ocular
change. Sometimes these changes are
permanent. Saguaros (Te
quiero) can begin to move
and appear to challenge with their arms
the delicate prickly pear while the Feather
cactus plays, “catch a falling Star“. It is, however,
the Christmas cactus that interests me:
blooming blood red pink like a baby‘s lips exactly at the
time they say we had a virgin birth.
Who will tell it to bloom now that we have lost faith:
a world divided, no party lines, no Avon lady, no
agreement not to kill each other?
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