poetry & things

Desert mountain

I think of mountains

the way they climb for the sky

losing their way through clouds.

Looking up, I never know if they reach the top,

or do they see me way down here?

Some kind of ant, I dig for rocks

a pocket full, turquoise blue

a miner for Apache jewels

exposed by red dust winds

as the day chips away

and carves a night

back into black


Post navigation
Scroll to top