Early in the morning
blue skies of birdsong
winging in summer
singing sweet of dawn
awakened from dreaming
the day is unfolding with love
early in the morning with the sun
we are opening like blossoms at blue lily pond
no words spoken only reflection within
early in the morning with the sun

Sink deep your feet
the moss and muddy floor
grey with rain
the weeping moss
hanging in the trees
ravens cry, calling thee
into the starless void
of moonless canopy
a hidden place
wherein the soul illuminates
a cynosure of deeper truths
a dark that lights the way

Thirsty, a parched pale yellow
this milkweed, dandelion field
dried silky seeds blowing wild
hot cracking leaves
lightning trees afire
forests and burning meadows
with eyes that sting
I can but see, spectrally
the smokey sun
breathe a deathly air
that chokes the lungs
creatures gasp and run
in moments ever dire
they flee frightfully
amid falling trees
of fire.

When I drive that road
past sun bleached stones
of minerals and bones
take the turn off at Dragoon
fly past cattle guards and farms
the road that leads
to your house
my view askew
a parallax
I rue
desolate
the cold
moon-blue
of you

A susurrus wind
of chaparral lingers on
after the rain, in the heat of day
behind mountainous clouds
the hissing sun will scarcely fade
until at dusk it finally crawls
and swiftly snakes away.

These women, they are old
in touch with ancient ways
the dredging of deeper points
they've come to know
and show, without hiding

Their faces are worn weathered maps
lines and holy roads
with soulful eyes
smiling they settle
and sit you down
beside them

In their circle of fire and knowing
these women of the earth
serve milky tea and mirth
their laughter resounds
it pounds the heart
grounds you there
in the fervent pureness
of your tears