On the Wind

Stone and Flowers

On the Wind of the Desert

Ah, I swallow the wind of the desert,
and I breathe it out again at night;
and a piece of my soul flies with it
to shelter in the rocks, to nestle
in their safety of a thousand years.
And that breath of me shall curve
with the wings of wind, and shall carve
with them the fastnesses of mountains,
there make shelter in stone
for small things, craft the havens
for sparrows that shall be born
a hundred years hence, for lives
I cannot even dream,
lives as small as my own, or smaller,
breathing the same winds
and carving the mountains with souls
that, like mine, fly in the night
on the winds of the morning
to find the ageless shelter of life.

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Flickering shadows
across gray penstemon leaves
mirror the brilliance
above them the sable wings
quiver among carmine blooms.

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A sea of silver
light flows beneath night’s headlands
the moon is unseen

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