Scarce is life in her parched breath,
     dry in a desert left bare 
     of her own mother's love.
Clinging to drops of moisture,
     until Mother Monsoon brings
     tears of summer.
Matriarchy bestows fresh those
     living day-to-day, hour-to-hour,
     green and bright and anew.
Our lady of resounding diversity,
     bosom to burrowed creatures
     hibernating in colorful sands.
Sonora, her winds 
          life-giving,
               life-taking,
     of beauty and barren scape.
My homeland.
My mother.
     
Written July 9, 2025, while working the first page of a new sketch notebook.