Well, this is the second message from one of the snuffies.
Miles of the desert pull you backward, and you forget.
By the path, one of those hollow chunks.
They call them saguaro boots, has fallen
and rolled by an anthill.
Whatever happened to those letters you kept for a while
back there in college.
Ants crawl over the boot, maybe there's honey on it.
You like to turn things over, but just with a stick.
No need to touch, or carry it along.
Wherever you go, even in the desert,
the world has these strange things.
They fall down and roll, and you find them.
[APPLAUSE]
I guess I should dedicate this to those who gave me a saguaro
boot, thank you.
I feel immensely knowing about this area now, ha.