untitled
the walls are clay and ivy
windswept and red, the clay
a reminder that we are not first
to this land, this now dry place
where rivers once flowed
I came to the desert seven years
ago, seeking my proverbial
forty days - phow time flies
in this time three women,
three jobs, and a new direction
that wind cannot follow, only ravens
can intuit with their wisdom
I seek the dry heart, empty veins
flowing where rivers gave life
to prickly pears pushing yellow
flowers from their limbs
in those dark hours between dusk
and dawn we know the dryness,
the hollow arteries so dry,
so empty of hope, of soothing rain
soon the monsoons will come,
lightning and torrential storms, but
nothing that nurtures, nothing
that offers compassion and softness
so that is what I seek, learning words
that will never heal a heart the way
listening will, the way love will,
the way the heart heals when someone
sees into the desert night
and calls forth the owl, the coyote,
the rattlesnake
for yes, even venom heals
when applied correctly - we must
know pain to know love,
must lose the self to gain
so much more
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