On the way home

My mountains are these clouds.
Treeless fields of sage
my high desert sea.
Each pry the same opening.
The gap that spreads quietly
as late August yellow,
refusing to entertain
but claiming me.


3 Responses to “On the way home”

  1. Tera Braby says:

    I’ve really enjoyed reading your words. In fact, it kind of gives me the itch to pull out my old poem book.

  2. admin says:

    Is it a book you write your own poems in? I hope so…write your life, sister.

  3. Tera says:

    It is. In fact, I think my first (of many) is a journal that you gave me one Christmas.

Leave a Reply