THE ARIZONA OCEAN

Yellow blades dust the yard,

scarred by a scrap

of terra cotta clay.

The spigot squeaks under attack,

and tangled webs of cracks

soften under a raging flood.

An ocean, murky brown,

supplants the glazed heat,

and our oasis quenches the desert.

My brother and I squelch through the surface,

and cool mud oozes over me from head to toe,

like a slimy second skin.

The hose trickles a tributary,

a delta feeds the current,

and ocean brine spatters my face.

Shipwrecked sailors, we struggle against a squall.

The wind whips tears into my eyes,

and the current erodes my strength like grains of sand from a rock.

As Navy SEALs, we lie submersed like crocodiles,

mud gurgling in my ears,

until a four legged foe invades our bog.

When the sun sets in a riot of reds,

we rinse with the tributary,

and watch as red and gold flames lick the surface of the water,

clinging to the edges of the ocean

as it sinks back into clay.