Western Sky

In the desert she rides across the sun-burnt sands

Astride without a saddle, toward the western sky,
To follow the sun in its path to foreign lands
Where blue birds sing a song that will never die.
Mixing the melodies to mask the echoed moans
Of shadow souls that struggle up from below
To thrash about the earth like castaway stones
In a twilight sleep, a dream wherever she goes.
And as the sun arises from its den abroad
To gather the pages left torn by sand-born winds,
Her spirit perfumes in the presence of God,
Accepting it all as the world once more begins.
Bathed in her eyes, where every flutter is a death,
Born in a prophesy that’s carried with every breath.


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