Reap what you sow

A bone dry exhale
torn by Joshua tree spikes
and Cancer's zenith bites,
takes the highway north,
to hit a San whatever valley,
a burst of ash for arid lungs.

Seasonal bees in raggedy hats
flock like wilted petals around
precious barrels, huddle
on the dubious shade side
of silk thin vines.

Soon enough a ridge will
claim the day, weary feet
tread onward on egg shells.

Ans stories murmured in the
shade of vines dance idly on
from ear to ear.

Reed baskets half full of grapes,
heart baskets bursting of legends.