When the cactus spoke hums
the ivory cloak of yesterday’s mist
sunk into the crook of your elbow
—the burnished paradox bird
will make its nest in the
breath of hell, the doberman watching in
the shop window will
cradle an orphaned waterbuck,
the cicada’s strum leaking from the
ink stain on your twilled
cotton shirt
—a bicycle wheel will
trip over a discarded guitar
pick an entire terracotta
village will fade into paper light
when the cactus spoke whines
seven acres of sugarcane will be
set alight, before the venom of the snakebite
pools in the farmer’s bloodstream after the
turnip moth hides its young in
dripping roots a monkey’s tail will
trace a romance in the canopy,
your wide green eyes blink tourmaline
when the cactus spoke purrs
the nodding saltbush will lose its bloom,
on the jetty a bird’s disguise will throw
distant buffalo, a cracked urn
will spill wine on a dry mouthed desert