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Cactus sprite — I live in the cactus,
its spines my home, warm, comforting.
Little wonder that my feet —
small feet, soft feet, dainty, tender feet
have never touched ground.
Painful feet — on flowered spikes impaled,
while I, in flowered bed enthroned,
weep, dance, with bleeding feet.

Cactus sprite — I make the spring,
with blue, yellow, and red feet
beating harsh green cactus into beauty.
Friend, flower — friend, grow.
Such is my love that never 
would I leave my home,
but dance on painful into night.
The sand red, flowers bloom red, 
I sing red into cold moonlight,
my life a brief, a red blur,
and dying, fall onto the sand.
This — harsh, hot, sparkle — is sand,
and at its touch I fade into winter,
only petals blowing in the warm wind.