The early morning mist clings to the cactus in drops of precious moisture, soft diamonds glistening 1 put my lips to the lichen and feel my skin moisten, parched tongue refreshed, precious water slips down my throat drop by precious drop but as the air depletes the moisture and it dries withering on each spine I move on, my silent wondrous feast denied as the day dives into desert orange sun and dust.next poem