A Wind of Tiredness

It's the desert. We don't get waves,
We get red dust and maybe smoke,

Old snow on north slopes in the shade
Of the juniper trees. We're tired,

This afternoon, tired and quiet,
In the way only three people,
A family without excess
Friends or superfluous siblings,

Picnicking on a truck tailgate
In the sandstone and prickly pear
Well off the road, one or two jets
Way up high in the air, can be.