Northern New Mexico
Sunrise,
and I wander
Arroyo de Angeles.
A hurricane-like
flood roared,
as if a mountain lion,
past your
high desert walls,
an unyielding
rip tide,
uprooting
all life
within reach.
Your riverbed,
this morning,
a serene pattern
of whirls
and ripples,
music
for the eye,
soft underfoot,
broken only,
here and there,
by prints
of a lone mare
or stallion.
I look back.
My tracks
seem as if one
of your namesake
angels
has shadowed
my reverie’s
every step.
Finding yet joy,
as have I,
in the storm’s ruins,
remnant seeds
of a desert’s
rebirth.
