She told me not to forget
about wild flowers in the wind

Her voice trailed my dreams
followed me across country
remembered my name
when I could not.

Her mysterious face
hidden by dream fog.

What did she mean?

Purple hills grow strong
when ravaged?

Bruised until strength holds them so still they bleed out beauty?

How do you view a wind trying to shake out color from its core?

Whispering voices
Don't forget
Wildflowers in wind
strength of mountain
providing room for roots
cut it in
expand
hidden zigzag patterns
mind boggling designs
your pen aches to trace them
follow until they
tilt off earth
eyes seek
for pure luminescence
aching to touch
desiring to merge
burning to paint.

Leave behind judgment
roll in
the maddening roar of truth
spiked down
in the ground
purple gladiators
singing
perfect
together
when land is combed
by a blasting Gale
your shine stems from.