It is the call in the night
deep in the darkness, through
the wind and the hills and the dry--
that hovers shimmering above the earth.
It is the blue that glistens
and hazes over eyes and trees
alike, that dapples and touches,
soft, the deep green pines
and alike my skin firry and pungent.
It is the clay that stains red
and drives in rivets after rain, the
carved beds in moving hills.
It is the sun that fingers its sons
that lusts hungry for its daughters
that cries through winter
as it sits mournful above
the desert.
Comments
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Like the wolf howling at the Moon.
Down in the baha's. Ensenda Mexico. Had the best star's to look at. They where like in hands reach. Beautiful. With the ocean's and hill's. The people honest and kind. Reminded of the hill here in ohio. Good job you are a superb writer. Stay in school. Please.
language: 5, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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