Make it a chiseled red line, with grey
With as many feelings as flowers
Opened petals to the rain. Take
A bough of juniper and brush
The soft skin of the sky.  The smoke
Of memories is stained. The arroyo is
Full of clay, sunken feet fill the
Mind. Thunder on the horizon
Shatters the rainbow into silence
Each color divides into dusk.
Underneath the red mesa
I peer into the purple twilight
Which is a closing eye. The
Stars open up like a field of
Evening primroses. The sound of
Frogs, from some hidden pond,
Echo in my dreams on the wetness of
Edges as I slip in and out of sleep.