I follow the sway of my hips,
look straight into the face
of each moment, listen
as one who is lost.
Maps roll out before me,
above the Arctic Circle.
Desert and river are the heart.
The crater curled in Galapagos
spins a blue pool in Ghana.
Day and dream permeable,
fragments float, kaleidoscope.
Wind-driven sand embeds creases,
carves Escalante’s Waterpocket Fold.
In the desert, tinajas gather water.
Thorned olive is a refuge for winged
conversation, goldfinch and starling.
Canyon’s curved shell assembles
songs of home. My thin-skinned
wandering reveals hidden silence
in folds of desert linen.