Of Mother

the spirits of the ancients

rumble in ochred striations

rasp with copper calls

of the wisdom of the earth.

this petrified sand, here,

that grabs my foot-treads

\while I suspect it of slippery treachery\

roots me, through the centuries,

in ways only my soles

can wearily fathom.

wild beauty surges through thundering veins

with every startling gust

that reminds me, breathless,

of my cosmic insignificance.

sandstone vistas ransack my wind

\as I grasp, mindless and controlling\

while my cap is strewn in the dust

with all my careful planning.

long deceased, gnarled juniper branches

smoothed with the oils

of countless fearful

lend strength and support

as stubborn doggedness flags.

there are cliffhangers here

\rarefied legends beyond my ken\

that cling, dusty and persistent,

to knotted and testy calves.

mother o’erwatches

omnipotent and ever-present

as I traverse her playground.