On days like this
cool, with little winds
desert birds forage for sticks
they build nests perched in cactus
some build green in palo verde trees
always I think of baby birds in spring
hatchlings, the fledglings that fly
I travel far beyond the noise of towns
watch the movement of cooling clouds
the roundness of rain upon the ground
the grey banked scurrilous skies
of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm
daisies that close, cold amid the stones
beneath where snakes and lizards go
slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros
and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.

We've been breaking each other
for years,
day by day,
piece by piece,
until
there was nothing left of us
but pain
and misery
and the ghost of a love
wandering the lonely streets
of our souls.

Sitting under these trees waiting
maybe all day for the moon
or the washing rain upon my face
lay upon this mossy grass, all sunk in
pay no mind to where I've been
no matter - awake or dreaming
I fly into the forest with birds
waxwings, Bohemians
under maple leaves
sun dappled, shining
or perched in the pinewoods
a safe place to hide away
a heart that's dying.

With eyes, like owls - great horned or a night cat's
his arms, tree branched, heavy laden, strong
with legs, sturdy pillars for mountains climbed
hair of silken silver brushed upon my skin
his essence, forged by nights and wildfire pines
his reddened lips, softly melting into mine.

All day from the canyon
the wind birds hover
the dance of pines,
the free water.

The long grass that flows,
green seaweed of the river.
September's early leaves
paper, gold upon the water,
wild yellow petals.

The river's edge
shines with flowers, fully petaled
looking out upon the water
all day the blue, green, yellow of the water
all day until the red, gold of the evening sun.