She

sits, bent over the counter.
The last light is not yet turned out;
it spills over the top of her head,
auburn twirled with gray,
down her face, to her son's homework.

She
stares for a moment,
takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.
She replaces the frames to her face,
lifts the next page,
pours over it, eyes following her finger.

Everyone is in bed;
She still sits
with the last remaining light
to make sure today's pages are precise.

It is in this same way, before the first frost of fall:

She
carries a single branch inside,
dangling a tiny chrysalis necklace.
Five days later, from a black cocoon,
the monarch emerges:
a winged witness to her care.

Desert Song (February 7th, 2005 from South Dakota) (revised version)

sweet, blossoming Desert:
your vast blue skies,
dust of distant lands,
fresh, warm, orange kiss,
sunshine, and cactus flower,
heat rising from your crusty sand;

watchful, towering Mountains,
wrapped in Thunderclouds:
rains sweep across your thirsty dirt,
blooms stretch to catch a drop
from threatening Sky,
buds thrive, saguaros swell with girth;

long and curved road to Saguaro:
throne of boulders lining Pima Canyon,
shaded by Palo Verde trees,
Luna llena,
bright Moon and Sky of stars,
fat saguaros sway like sticks in Breeze.

driving to Camino del Norte:
Catalinas, Tortolitas,
Tucsons,
I miss you.

I miss
prancing through Pima
and venturing up Ventana;
running up Esperanza

(I miss you,
sweet Desert)

endlessly and hopefully up and up
until sitting on Wasson Peak
watching Sun set across you, Desert,
listening to your spirit sing.