Upon the sun-beaten hills

In the hot and citric embrace of the wind

Under the benediction of the coyote who loves

—the moon

Sanctioned by the sage and the deer, a quiet

—people without judgement

 

There dwells the Juniper, Old and gnarled

Arms open in an embrace of the midnight sky

He reaches to the stars in prayer and reverence.

His soft and weathered lips, whispering without

—sound

 

Waiting for the stars to answer back

Waiting for deliverance and absolution

 

I will miss him, that sad old man who is

—waiting

 

Lost in a world of which he is no longer a part and

yet still watches over

 

You see we are so much alike

My soul and I.