In fall, when all the muscles and tendons
Of the mountain are struggling
To stretch out their bare stones, and
All the skies are waiting for the soft snow
To fall from those darker evenings;
I saw you standing there beside
The opaque lake, quivering in anticipation
Of what is to come, begin. And, and if the
Weight is to heavy to carry, to burdensome
To bear, then lean on those stronger slopes
Seize the moment of despair, and embrace
The grief of here and then. In me you have
Within in me there is, a way down to the valley
Where the desert begins, the red clay yearns
In such moments as these, sculpted as if to say
I too am standing, still.

Along the flowing path
Of illuminated light, smiling
Beside the stream

Among the smothered stone
Beneath the shadowless mountain
The burning sun rises

Bloodless as Osiris
Drinking in the dusk
And laughing.

My eyes, grey blue, have changed
And my vision, deep grey, has
Changed, much like the trees
On the mountainside have changed, much like the way the
Night fades into morning.  And
My mind has changed, has become a well tended garden.
And my tears, well they fall
As soft as the rain tonight, this
First day of October.

Burnt out arroyo's
Of centuries gone
Melt before the sun
Goes away,  before
Summer does. The
Carmalized scent
Of la chamisa
Dank and old
Reminds me of
A smile gone
A dream remembered.

It was never easy, no
to love you fall;
so dearly and deeply
as it was to sleep
amongst the tall
pines of summer
(that strong spine of fear)
but I will confess
no more or less;
that your scent of la chamisa
in the evening of half moon
was a chill my flesh has
never confessed nor condoned.

After the storm rolled by
The swollen edges of the swamp
Lifted their white wings to the night
In flocks of thousands. I watched
From the cypress as they became
The stars, burning in the farthest
Corners of my mind. Dreams
In the space between synapses,
Fizzled and died. Love was but
A question we hung carelessly
In the dense jungle air.

A hazy, senseless rain in the night
Steady, as if summer was, ah
Finally taking a deeper sigh
From its ancient, billowing lungs.
Entwined in the lethargic retreat of
Violins and a thousand dreams
Of death and love; what could be
More terrifying and exciting?
Bowing, as if to say goodbye
With shoulders bent and bruised;
I hold onto those tears I let go
A long time ago, but still so near.
A cacophony of dank mushrooms
And mossy stones (remembering now, a river sound).
And in the mountain of mystic slopes
Deep in some obscure aspen grove;
I wonder if a similar feeling stirs
And grows?