In the Aravaipa Canyon, twigs dance ballet &
white butterflies circle desert blooms.
All day, wind grabs a flag & plays the music
of a blazing fire.
At dusk, Mescal’s green & yellow feather shapes jumped
from behind closed eyes,
imprinted themselves on the night sky as
Horus,Krishna, Isis. . .
Has the world always been so alive?
Has fire always caressed ribs of wood
in honeycomb shapes?
So many spirits in the desert and
“O-ee wa tay Oeeeoeeeewaaatay”
is their song.
The owl cries above me,
reminding me that
home is within.