Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep
I am soaked, barefoot, with mud running through
soft the moss, cool and cold
to soothe my heart that bleeds.
Our waxing nights of love and moons
now fallow, a field that burns
****** our hollow bed
of haunting, silent screams
too soon the fiery devil
too far my lover
the spring.
Some days, this desert
under spells of sun and moon
think, I brood in fields of agave blue
the angled sun blares sharp to parch
to dry, to crackle leaves to dust
tricky this prickly pear cactus
bitter thorns laden with
impossible blood sweet fruit
while high and seen out the corner
of my eye, the half moon smiles
beguiled by the sun.
Fiddlehead fern rooted in earth

warmth of sunshine gives birth to your unfurling

green forest smiles as you reach toward stars

you are smiling like moonlight

shining back through trees.
Now these clouds, the cold mean greys
sideways rain, the north lands I remember.
The drowning choke of smoke and fire,
traveling the dark road to your home.
The black and spark of stars we watched
through the night before that killing dawn
before the fog, the cold that held us down.
The clinch and grasp, a slow stinging wasp.

Gone the fragrant allure and hum of bees
the honey meadow of petals,
only a fleeting summer - we gathered
now swallowed in the autumn thunder,
the bruising cold of November.
On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.
In this desert
I touch the ocean within
here where I abandon all plans
I spend hours watching clouds form
in flowers blooming violet, red.
I travel to the sanctuary of the soul
each morning, sit silently
at the altar of dawn.
Delicate these green wings, diaphanous moth paper
wings melded to glass, and smashed
half tattered, your sequin gown glistening.
What game, these moon magnetics,
these hot porch light dances
we live and die to play
hide and seek amid
the falling stars
and flashes.
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