<html aria-label="message body"><head><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="overflow-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;"><div dir="auto" style="overflow-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space; font-size: 22px;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">December Morning in the Desert</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The morning is clouded and the birds are hunched,</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">More cold than hungry, more numb than loud,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This crisp, Arizona shore, where desert meets</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The coming edge of the winter world.</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a cold news in stark announcement,</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The myriad stars making bright the black,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">As if the sky itself had been snowed upon.</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But the stars—all those stars,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Where does the sure noise of their hard work go?</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">These plugs sparking the motor of an otherwise quiet sky,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Their flickering work everywhere in a white vastness:</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We should hear the stars as a great roar</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Gathered from the moving of their billion parts, this great</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Hot rod skid of the Milky Way across the asphalt night,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The assembled, moving glints and far-floating embers</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Risen from the hearth-fires of so many other worlds.</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Where does the noise of it all go</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If not into the ears, then hearts of the birds all around us,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Their hearts beating so fast and their equally fast</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Wings and high songs,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And the bees, too, with their lumbering hum,</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And the wasps and moths, the bats, and the dragonflies—</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">None of them sure if any of this is going to work,</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This universe—we humans oblivious,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Drinking coffee, not quite awake, calm and moving</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Into the slippers of our Monday mornings,</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Shivering because, we think,</span><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s a little cold out there.</span><br><br><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Alberto Ríos</span></div></body></html>