The Moon climbs above the mesa.
The Milky Way spreads her wings.
The Big dipper shifts in the sky,
and the Sun chases away the dark.
What’s new, you ask?
The tangy smell of earth and the subtle shift of wind.
A fruit where before was none.
Leaves falling, crunching underfoot.
A melody of uncombed earth
shaggy and shoddy in her glory.
The dogs and horses grow their coats
then shed again.
The tree drops its weight and grows anew.
I have stopped writing to you, my love.
Life has turned me upside down and then back righted again.
Better than before.
But for a moment,
the focus was hard to find.
I am myself in a spiral notebook, wrinkled and blowing pages.
In the solitude shared with only animals,
that silent language we all speak.
The fur of a dog ruffling in the gentle breath of wind
and the puff of dirt from a shaking horse.
The sway of a saddle underneath –
especially the sway of a saddle underneath.
I have given myself to this desert,
to these animals
and they to me.
To be real – now that is the thing, isn’t it?
Do you ever lift your arms to the sky and sing from the pure happiness of it all?