We stand in the desert and stare at

the Chisos Mountains reddening

in silence, each little rocky crag

and slit given emphasis with

nearby prickly pears brilliantly lit,

but perhaps the most striking thing

proves to be the way the setting sun

illuminates spiked ocotillo plants

with tiny red buds looking much like

spirits emerging from thorny shells

silhouetted by such ghostly mountains.