Painted Desert

©Margaret Wesseling 

ripples of heat embrace

my arms and neck

the distance sends breezes

sun sprays off rock

dry country rolls

spills heat

these striped hills fade

an old etching

too full of light

your presence next to me

your eyes

I can pour into

how you have changed

and I, and still

we know each other, how

our parents’ words come

to mind, beauty, grace,

communion, seem

inadequate