amidst burnt timber

Atop the mesa, I stand
silent as the mule deer
pulls at the scrub
with her blunt teeth

the sunshine is harsh
but I love her here
as the morning is forgotten
with the path I drove
to find this place.

We call this desert
green

We call this moment
now

Atop this mesa, I sit
singing as the eagle
slices down
into the back of a jackrabbit

the sunshine is gentle
but i hate her here
as afternoon remembers
the moments that we've molded
to make this place.

We call this home
the road

We call this dream
then.