Here's something you might be interested in.
Lying in bed, rolled in cotton and down
waking to a sage drenched mesa
seeping across my window sill
pungent after the night rain
*
I see another cloudless sky rise
and feel life is like chocolate melting
on the roof of my mouth.
*
Joy fills me like a rich French breakfast,
yet I lie alone, am alone but for my children.
I have no lover, no scent in the fibers of my sheets
to curl up to, no strands of hair to finger
and remember, yet find that I am past the anxiety of losing my horse
*
and with my load secured on my back,
and my hair flying in warmed wind
relish the solitary sound of my footsteps grinding sandstone,
and the sun liquefying my blue eyes in arid times.
*
I have traveled thousands of miles and spent decades
reaping rewards of democracy, have broken bondage
and mastered misery but have only felt free beneath the vastness of this western
sky, within the embrace of the Mother Mountain. In my blue flannel robe
*
hanging open, I walk like my ancestors,
silently as through a boreal forest, toe first then heel,
soundlessly on red and white needles from pine trees with gnarled knuckle roots
clawing the earth, smoothly into the Taos sun, exposed.
*
Offering myself up, with arms out stretched like hers,
I feel my hips and breasts fitting between hers, into hollows and crevices
long ago molded, and feel finally in place like a wind swept puzzle piece
maneuvered over centuries, pocketed and coveted
for no other reason than familiarity, back to the whole.
Lying in bed, rolled in cotton and down
waking to a sage drenched mesa
seeping across my window sill
pungent after the night rain
*
I see another cloudless sky rise
and feel life is like chocolate melting
on the roof of my mouth.
*
Joy fills me like a rich French breakfast,
yet I lie alone, am alone but for my children.
I have no lover, no scent in the fibers of my sheets
to curl up to, no strands of hair to finger
and remember, yet find that I am past the anxiety of losing my horse
*
and with my load secured on my back,
and my hair flying in warmed wind
relish the solitary sound of my footsteps grinding sandstone,
and the sun liquefying my blue eyes in arid times.
*
I have traveled thousands of miles and spent decades
reaping rewards of democracy, have broken bondage
and mastered misery but have only felt free beneath the vastness of this western
sky, within the embrace of the Mother Mountain. In my blue flannel robe
*
hanging open, I walk like my ancestors,
silently as through a boreal forest, toe first then heel,
soundlessly on red and white needles from pine trees with gnarled knuckle roots
clawing the earth, smoothly into the Taos sun, exposed.
*
Offering myself up, with arms out stretched like hers,
I feel my hips and breasts fitting between hers, into hollows and crevices
long ago molded, and feel finally in place like a wind swept puzzle piece
maneuvered over centuries, pocketed and coveted
for no other reason than familiarity, back to the whole.