On waves of midnight blue –
     We shoved off in the boat –
It mattered not where to –
     Anywhere at a casual knot.

We entered a world of darkness
     None but us could see –
One of two black firmaments
     Distinguished by a cool breeze –

And then, cradled by whitecaps –
     We kissed – you kept me warm.
That the hour was so late
     Was inconsequential.


Spring days like these
Were made for katie ruellia –
Who is royalty among flowers –
Robed delicately in purple.

There – she arrived for the festivities
As the trumpeters blow their sennet.
Her crown is the leaves –
The butterflies – her subjects.


Pink is the morning sun ablaze.
Gray is the balmy air.
Purple is the city’s haze.
Brown is the wren’s bleary stare.
White is the glistening dew.
     Night – adieu!


A mist of yellow
Gold upon the curtains
Blinding is its glow
The breath of calm winds
Birds silent like they know
Things muted by grayness
A wide, blue shadow
Trees black in the distance –
This is how the sun sets.


I was smote by words
As a soldier with bullets
‘Til I harnessed their power
And they slight retreated lest
     I would fire back

Then they came for my freedom
But they did not prevail;
No rights were forsaken
Because time outran evil
     And faded to black.


Ample is the rising sun
That alights the furthest mountain –
A carmine drape upon every hill –
Exciting the birds to warble.

Ample, too, is the evening sun
That paints a nebulous curtain –
Quickly changing the palette until
Bringing the good day to shutter.


Keep your vigil, whispers of gray –
Speak of what I do understand.
Assault the evil glare of day;

It doesn’t speak for my heart –
Rather for the city made of stone
Which knows no bounds of hate.

On this day, I’ve fallen asunder;
No love for the pieces that remain.
This day has nothing to offer.

Your neutrality fills me whole;
Share my haven with this mute
Though you are harsh but truthful.

Engage me, oh whispers of gray –
Until I can bear its façade –
I will bleed for a better day.



Plumes of peacock -
Silver sequins -
Halls and faces are aglow.

Music resounds -
Ev'ry lady
Is dancing around her beau.

Where is my friend
Who I wish would
Seek me hither presently?

Yet I, too, wear
A sequined mask.
How shall he recognize me?

I am the one with eyes so green -
The greenest this court has thus far seen -
And they shall search those who convened
For the fair knight of whom I'm so keen.

He wanders about nigh, I deem -
And he shall hold me in high esteem
And love me true once he has seen
My eyes, oh, my eyes so green.

Let the lutes play
For he found me
And his love lights up my life!

Whistle a tune
As we celebrate tonight!


Among hills Apache red
Where damas and vaqueros
Built up a homestead
Past the mercados
And hills with a vague past
Running aside the mission
Its white walls chaste
In the glow of the noontime sun
Past a dreamy mountain range
And several places where in brief
There was a Butterfield stage –
Runs a highway through my life
And whether bathed by the sun
Or a cloud of headlight glare
It continues to function
And remain my anchor.



I give you a gift of fireflies;
They’re all I have to give –
Captured by many tries –
Given with all my love.

They’re all I have to give
To you. They are white magick –
Given with all my love.
Let them illuminate your path.

To you, they are white magick
In the myst of the forest.
Let them illuminate your path
Because fear is darkness

In the myst of the forest.
Captured by many tries –
Because fear is darkness –
I give you a gift of fireflies.


Like a sparkling Roman candle
     Parry’s penstemon dots the canyon.
Oh what deep purple bells! –
     That decorate the trail along

Where pebblestones were swept aside
     And sway with the breeze –
Not to illicit a reaction
     But to accompany green.


With a spurn of yellow and a shout
A lone Mexican poppy
Aside the mountain path
Caught my meandering eye.

How diminutive was its stem
And so few were its petals –
Nevertheless – smart with poison –
As it stood there – tranquil.

For one who’s loud in color –
I warned the little poppy –
It’s not good to be popular
For you can be plucked easily.


My lover – he feels blank –
     His personality shows through
Those shades of love and kindness
     And fears held in check by curfew –

Neither brown nor yellow nor black
     But blank with diamond edges
That detect Truth and what
     I give back that simply is –

Neither opaque nor translucent
     Nor what spectroscopy in between
But fashioned by the eye of God –
     Made whole in splendid being.

Neither is love red nor pink
     Rather crystalline and pure
And sparkles – discreet –
     Behind some rare perimeter.


Our Sun imprints heavy July
Upon a crimson sunset.
The first star I see in the west
Brings with it a cobalt sigh ...


I see the green of the desert
That overcomes the brown
Clinging to ground and water

And with gentle affection
It might reveal some color
Like a yellow persuasion.

I feel the fermenting sun
Calling out the vultures
That fly with a heart of one.

It heats a beautiful hearth
Of brown quartz and white granite
That swears of Nature’s wealth.

I sense the black jaguar’s stare –
Eyes that have a thirst for blood
And those teeth – a gnashing lair.

I smell blood in the wind
When death captures its prey
And in birth when life tries again.

I hear the cicadas’ buzz
Drowning in humidity
As thunderheads growl above –

Billowing, creeping steadily
To the hour of their rage –
Covering the path of a coyote.

I taste the kindness of plants
Of palo verde, jojoba –
What nutrients each grants!

I spy the purple mountains
Blending in with their shadows –
Not knowing where either begin.

They tempt my spirit below
To their crags and lonely peaks –
To secret places I know.