Cocklebur pierced red loam
and spilled like milk
across the ground;
and at night a moon licks
saucers of milk swaying
on slender stalks,
the clouds extend their trail-of-white,
dip in the froth of blossoming
flooding cocklebur,
and green bee-eaters in masses
gurgle and go berserk,
fill their bellies
with swarming insects
in saucers of white cocklebur;
screw bean smothers cocklebur
lest it also conquer the sand;
smell of soft screw bean, leaking
and smell of pungent cocklebur leaping –
each to the other tightly adhering
and filling expanses of flat
red loam in its clods.