Amateur


With my lens I tried to beguile poetry's
living form; the colors of the desert
subtle hues of gold and amber; the sudden
flash of brilliant blue, how the wind transforms
jagged rock into river stones. Here the earth
absorbs all color. Life is resilient in the respite
of mans shadow. These simple stones become runes,
desert talisman that practice the mimicry
of stream. One day the sky will darken bursting
forth with ferocity; the desert spirit
long practiced in the art of denial,
is graced with the presence of water
and a river, transitory as man's fragile
breath on glass flows. Sepia images curl
into song and I only hazard a guess.