Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? or hast thou walked in the search of the depth? Have the gates of death been opened unto thee? Hast thou perceived the breadth of the earth? declare if thou knowest it all. Job 38: 16-18
Oh that the desert were my dwelling place, With only one fair spirit for my minister. That I might forget the human race, And hating no one, love her only. Lord Byron,Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
I walked alone into the waste in search of rivers—not a taste of water could I find to liquidate my mind.
Under the sun in vanished lakes alive with scorpions and snakes I sought within my soul her limpid watering hole.
The mogollón once hunted here as piñon pines disclosed the deer but now not even bones remained among the stones.
Scattered beads and the odd spearhead my visionary soul misled; the moment was my home and I was free to roam.
Burial caves of ash and silence spoke in tones of bygone violence— grinding stones lay broken: her archeological token.
I found a *** within a niche still balanced well, despite the pitch as if the owner’s urn awaited her return.
Amidst the fragments, free at last in potsherd patterns of the past I followed ancient streams through arid zones and dreams.
Exploring a dry riverbed unraveling her golden thread while stepping off a ledge descending from the edge,
I almost trod upon a snake and quick adjustment had to make. Reluctant viper-battler, I flinched. It was a rattler.
As my right foot continued down I saw the scales and dusty brown; Mere inches from its head the imprint of my tread!
The serpent was too cold and slow to strike a poisoned morning blow The sun still in the east— I swerved and missed the beast.
The desert’s charm advanced from there; She showed me sights I barely dare to tell lest I sound singed . . . My mind she so unhinged.
I stood before the gate of vision rapt in shadowed indecision gazing in the maw, unsure of what I saw:
A ruined mineshaft’s empty grin that mocked and whispered: “Come within. The words of Job are here in wisdom born of fear.”
Necropolis; a gaping portal… Feeling less than weakly mortal, deep I stared inside; allured yet terrified.
A passage to the depths of dread: the Book of Job, the sleeping dead. I barely now recall yet understood it all…
Still thirsting through her arid land divining truths in shifting sand I ventured on in vain, beseeching God to reign
The javelinas mocked my quest beguiled me onward, further west where Dutchmen hide their gold and Apache tears are sold.
Her rainbow shades and distant mesas silhouetted, paint her face as nobly as the lands her presence still commands.
Her beauty smiled: a virtual face of glyphic pre-Columbian grace decentralized desire in sublimated fire…
She led me to the springs of life my moonlight maid and desert wife; my nights upon the mountains in search of spectral fountains.
Ex-nomad of the mythic west my unfound treasure now confessed; her deserts had me smitten… for her my poem’s written.
ARIZONA ! (put on your rainbow shades...) https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2014/04/12/love-lines-az/