as a pilgrim I come to your god
given mountain, to know the truth of your
paint brushed convocation, its litany of silence answered
with solitude. I come to feel
your earth under a cloud cushioned sky
supported by an architecture of geology, the slippery volcanism
worn by ages of wind. a pallet of fire still spreads along the silhouette.
I wait for your ghost under a clock of stars until nights edge fades
to a palest jimson flower dawn. the innuendo of flowers plays
along the stark stratigraphy of sandstone walls. The music of
a land captured in the beat of your heart and the canvas of your life.
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