Desert Fires

Sometimes the sun burns like fools gold
Between my fingers in the late afternoon.

I hear the winds blow songs from the old ways
And whisper hidden meanings
Bringing to life the writings in the rustling leaves
Who speak poetry and verse
Song and lullabies,
Chants and false rumors
Of a warm day.

Walking down the street
I smell the fireplaces burning
As the night spreads her velvet clothe over head
While I take deep breathes of crisp air
And imagine an old woman
Sitting by a fire wrapped in a small blanket
Remembering the old man who used to sit beside her
And sometimes remembering nothing at all,
Except how cold it is
And how it has always been cold
Since the day her dreams fell away.
And I smell the pine burning
And I hear the wails of the crying woman
On the midnight frosty breeze
And I remember how lonely New Mexico feels
And how even the hills cry until they are dry
And how the desert seems to die on the surface
But always seems to survive,
And I often hope like I am a desert
And plead with heavens that I will survive
Another dream buried alive.

By Veronica Garcia 02-14-06
From Under the Yucca

nice

Thank you sweetypie, hugs

Your welcome