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Desert Night
June moon of the desert,
Sailing low-
The ways are free
Where God's fleets go.
The palo verde
You silver-tip;
The mesquite leaves
With your ghost-glow drip.
Deep down in furrows
Of wind-plowed hills
You shine, and their glory
Overspills.
MANANA
St, sf, sefior,
Should one ask, what for
This slumbering
When day is on the wing-
There is roof overhead;
On the table, bread;
On the vine,
Grapes for new wine;
Burros two;
And, querida mia, you.