We dip close
to México,
our seasonal pools
full of sky.
Spring-sown yellow flowers
dot the shadows
of low adobe walls,
the land a quiet line
against clouds.

A door overgrown
with vines, asleep,
the kind you have to force
with care, set in this shallow wall
where no door
appeared before.

Only light rain
to shine the leaves so
this dim time of day,
bring close
cloud shreds,
a suggestion of chaparral
on the wind.