He looks at the skin on the top of his hand,
parched, translucent leather with blue streams running beneath.
He looks at the hair on his forearms,
dry, palo verde branches planted in a bumpy, desert sheath.
He looks at his legs crossed at his feet
and recalls mounds of muscle bulging beneath
the now bony Saguaros flat on their side.
Time to put on a long-sleeved shirt and long pants;
dying desert plants need to hide
from the fierce desert sun.