La Esperanza en el Desierto

I got the title and first line from a list of Mexican bars that Edward Weston wrote down in his journal.

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La Esperanza en el Desierto

Hope in the wilderness.
Lost to the morning fog.
Will it walk or stand?
Counting trees till the path
is clear as a sunny day of fiction..
Or wander, like the moonlight shadows,
crossing everything, that's black.

Where do I stand in this?
In a house, alone in the hour.
Listening to black notes, racing
a scale that's losing its footing.
But the end comes to that.
With just one long note.

Hope in the wilderness.
Should lie down like a seed,
waiting for a spring sun,
Then enter the world
as a flower. Yet the fate here.
A fawn will claim it as food.

So be it.