Nothing green grows in the desert

Rest on rocks naked
beside a dried-out Rio Grande.
I snake, I water-starve
I cacti-skin green and
hard. Hardy plants, dew
flowering through drought.
Monsoon winds cloud the sky
as I bake bone-dry and
aching. How I long for
the empty shells, their
infant feathers.
Once, I was pocked over
in clover, grew green
weeds and dandelion stems
and birds laid their eggs in a nest
of my hair.