(The mountains south of Taos, NM)
Burn Site
It is winter
I sort through the ashes of my life
Remember the storms past
And yet…I remain
All is quiet
Waiting with expectation
Each day a short climb
Bundles of ideas in every corner
Thunderbolts light the landscape in all directions
You bring joy to me
Trapped in the desert
Where all is dry, nothing damp
We are but husks of our former selves
Rustle like dry stalks in the corn fields
Sounds heard in hot summer wind
I might be shook up by this thought
Were it not true
annellannell 