October, three PM

The sun burns into my skin

A cooling breeze sighs

Shovel breaks the dirt

Soft sand throws up clouds of dust

Blister makes me wince

Now the pit is dug

Brittle grey twigs make a pile

The lighter flickers

The flames scorch my legs

Fire adds to the desert heat

Branches turn to ash

Mesquite burns slowly

Palo verde goes up fast

Cactus spines glow, die