I think of mountains
the way they climb for the sky
losing their way through clouds.
Looking up I never know if they reach the top
or if they see me way down here?
Some kind of ant, I dig for rocks
a pocket full of turquoise blue
a miner for Apache jewels
exposed by red dust winds
as the day chips away
and carves a night
into black obsidian.

It was soft, a purple shade
lavender, lilac made
of flowers warm, we breathed
deep the inhale, swirling round
sweet the exhale, falling to the ground
reaching deep in soul
the sink, the swallow
birds of spring
songs to fill
the hollows.

I looked into the center
into the circles of gradient color
the pollen, sun gold anthers
sepals green, holding close the petals
smooth stemmed, impossible heavy heads
beautifully in rings around trees
the honey sweet blossoming spring
busy with new born bees
that fly in fragrant dream
discovering lilies bright as sun
watching bees with flowers become one.

It was shallow water, rippling
a watery moon quivering
on the surface seen
It was night fire
burning water into steam
gray smoke screened
It was willful drowning
upon a lily bed of lies
parched a wilted garden
slowly withers, dies

Walking this ground
we gather rusted remnants
pieces of a lifetime placed
within the hollows of our shoulders
and from the hardened blades
the bones, this is the place
where gorgeous wings
are formed

If wind
would have known
could have gone
another way around
if I had not been too soon, too late
to hesitate or let myself go - unbound
piled, buried too late to be found
if I'd not have stayed away far too long
yours would be a place
I still call home