We huddled in a cleft of rock, a shelter
from the fierce wind that rammed its way
into all the soft bodies of the Earth.
Yucca trees raised their ragged fists,
a gesture of praise or defiance.
Hieroglyphics crawled up your yellow shirt.
Silver snakes dangled from my ears.
Galaxies wheeled across the bright arc
of sky, and a choir of flutes keened
in a language that made perfect sense.
Grey Sparrow Journal 