Dust Devil

Dust Devil

She was a dust devil
Appearing suddenly in 

Blue prairie skies
Unexpected
Turbulent.

She lofted me
Into whirling debris
Into a confusion of danger
Into skies suddenly troubled
Unconcerned with any order
I enjoyed.

She was here
Then suddenly there
Going, then returning
Only to go again.

She spun and darted

Fast, then slow

Climbing, then falling
Kicking up dust
Coupling my calm with her rage.

She was a dust devil
In open prairie

From a distance, amusing
But up close a hazard.

When she finally lost energy
Spinning out into a gust
Both my eyes and heart
Were raw and burned.

It took time to restore order.
I vowed to never again surrender
So willingly
To one so ready
To inject chaos.

That must be why they're called
Devils.

Every Good Thing

She called to say thank you.
Her voice broke and faltered
The way clothes catch on a wire.
The way words scatter in wind.

I listened silently
Not knowing what to say
Or whether to answer at all.

Her son was dead.
She called to tell me
She appreciated all I had done for him.

For “Jimmy.”

But I could not think of a single
Thing
I had ever done for him
Or said to him
That had weight and substance.

Jimmy had been terribly ill for years.

His body seemingly melted into the sheets.

Linda and I spoke often
During that ordeal.
But last year she stopped calling.

I have no memory, or account
Of any substantial provision I made for them.
I don’t tally those things.

Linda continued saying
I had been the voice of comfort
That the aid I provided was meaningful
To both mother and son.

 

Her voice rose and fell.

Staccato.

I could taste her grief.

Unsure how to respond

I simply listened
Until her voice stumbled and hushed.

I heard my voice speaking
As from beyond
Apart from any wisdom
From which I was origin.

I told her every good thing
Comes from God
And from Him only.

She said God would reward me

For all I had done.

That is precisely what I fear.

Sustenance and Heat

Sustenance and Heat

The steaming water
Accepts the tea bag
As I accept her.
She settles beneath my surface
Slowly
Delicately flavoring
Coloring my life.

Purposefully
I stir her
Into every part of me
Until it becomes impossible
To determine
Were I end and she begins.

I allow her to steep

Awaiting the moment
I may taste the sweetness
Of her presence.

All I desire is her.

My need is her.
And she remains
For as long
As I provide the sustenance
And the heat.

A Razor Edge

The jagged peaks
Cresting the Sangre de Christos
Are the product
Of immense pressure
Caused by one massive slab
Of deep subterranean shelf
Heaved skyward by another
Of inestimable force
Into cold climes of southwestern sky.

But that does not define the view.

What sets the eyes alight
Is the palette of winter pastels
Rosy hues, deep blue, purples
And virginal white
Applied by knife edge
Onto the canvas of surprise
In serrated upward strokes
Into rare, frigid air
Capped by glazed peaks
Pure as a maiden’s dream.

At the foot of the range
The basin dots with mesquite
Stunted trees
And hard scrabble brush.

Nothing, at first
Suggests charm.
Personal insignificance is the lesson
In contemplation of such wild.
Left to the elements
Survival is, at best
Improbable
And, at worst
Impossible.

Winds sweep the slopes
Numbs the face
Braces the spine
And fixes the feet.
Life in such harsh truth
Teeters upon a razor edge.

The Certainty of Passion

The Certainty of Passion

Sitting intently before her mirror
Her freed dark hair tumbled
Like rivers
Cascading a fall.

Muted light
From the table lamp
Decorated her sweet form
And the smile in the parenthesis
Of her rosy cheeks.

Slowly she combed her thick locks
A soft “shushing"
Of the brush
The only sound
Save the quiet melody she hummed.

Unmindful of the slow
Passing of time
She was a study
In gentle grace
Reserved beauty
And the certainty of passion
Lying just below the surface
Known but to the one
Who held her heart
The way she held the brush
Smoothing her long mane
A study of balance
Between control
And unreserved ardor.

When night falls
When her hair lets softly down
When the song is finished
When she eases into bed
Nothing remains
Except dreams
And the hopes
Of what tomorrow may be.