I know a place of silence
Where one can roam about -
Touch the height of peace
And watch the morning crown.
It's a place well-hidden -
Where no worry survives -
Where no thoughts break in
And living hope abides -
Where seraphs may be found
And joy is my raiment -
Where clouds meet the ground
And keep the dewy haven.
It's under mesquite trees -
Over their medusan roots
And in mellow sun rays
And their assuring proofs.
It's by the pale mescals -
Under some tender stalk -
Between granite boulders

Love is many, Water is many
And flows aplenty
But Fire is one
And consumes until gone
All but purity.

If to each other we belong
And we’re to stay strong
Then feel the fever
And douse with ether;
Purify the bond.

The wind hears many secrets
   As he blows at his election.
Only a hearer at best –
   He mulls them over and again
But doesn’t repeat or think aloud
For there are too many to recount.

The wind also has many lovers –
   Appreciating the trees –
Caressing the flowers
   And cooling warm cheeks
But preferring to roam –
Blows away to a place unknown.

A wider landscape I see beyond;
It beckons to me from afar.
The land has a kaleidoscope dawn
And many wonders that lay beyond.
Run your hands over its grasses blonde;
Catch a whiff of its sacred rose attar.
To a kinder landscape I go beyond;
Someday it will beckon no more.

Out there,
in the dark between trees,
the owl calls—
low, deliberate,
like he’s naming something
he hopes still hears him.

No answer.
Just the echo
folding in on itself.

I lie still,
listening.
Not to the sound,
but the pause that follows—
wide as the sky
and lonelier.

He calls again,
less certain this time.

And somehow,
sleep comes.
Not with comfort,
but with the ache
of knowing
I’m not the only one
calling into the dark
hoping something
will call back.

Let a child’s gleaming face
be  that kaleidoscope,
of blue sea pearl ripples,
spreading green tides of hope,
to dry land hearts in drought
craving  tot’s tears to cope

How I love to praise
divine scenes at first light
fantastic feelings flow
one should be overjoyed
and cling to emotion
for such durable periods
as they present themselves
or maybe seek a similar
mood to enthuse oneself
let that latent poet inside 
express  gold tip verses
delve into lexicons that
inspire poetic devices
praising to the fullest
those themes awakening
rivers of hearty enthusiasm
they could be sunsets
sunrises, fountains, rainbows,
noonday vistas,  evening fare,
in city, town or countryside

My friend once sighed
That he watches planes fly by
And wonders where they’re going.

The world’s tempo beats on.
I, too, prefer to stop along
The way and watch a small thing.

I congratulate the weed
That grew from a wayside seed
And survives in the sidewalk’s crack.

I notice when raindrops descend
That the roads shine iridescent
Then dry again to a flat black.