these foothills rolling in pine and grassland meadows, where silvery lupine follow the melting snow, hint of the mountains to come in spiny crags that catch a cumulus pocked sky cottonwood tufts rain this day after solstice
what can I give but love? tears and anguish have no currency in the end prayers cross to another realm beyond my scope where ash and dust wait what can I give, my friend? what can I give?