Singing up the Dawn…

My walk to the river

is a joyful entrance

into the eternal Now.

The water flowing,

crushed fresh mint,

trilling bird song

desert air so sweet

my body vibrates

humming with all that is…

 

Returning under

bowing cottonwoods

I touch a heart shaped leaf

in reverence…

For Life.

 

Datura trumpets

are sirens singing…

And I bend down

to pull intoxicating scent

into my lungs

remembering a seed

that became a goddess

white roots tangled

in wet cloth

before spring planting.

 

This holy one of the Wild Places,

Waste Places,

speaks to death

for the unwary –

Fans Wildfire.

 

Luminous white moon faces

celebrate the dawn

perfume dissipating…

When a piercing eye rises

pearl blossoms fade

like I do under

the fierce heat of

a bittersweet orange

star.