Northern New Mexico
I sense in sun’s first frost breath
their eagerness.
My crown’s rose-plated gold this morning
signals it’s time.
Some will fly east.
Others will settle in my shadow.
They will age, and in aging, renew me,
as they have for eons in the high peaks.
And I them.
How many do I recall
who stayed behind?
Who fled?
Their mother,
I’m blessed to store the future
in winter’s deep-rooted vault.
To free it again in springrise.
To set my newborn free come fall,
yet none remember.
