March Storm

Thunder cracks the blackened sky,
dropping booms on this desert valley.
Sheets of pouring rain POUNDS
the one-peaked roof like a million
laser beams scarring thin tissue.
Run-off patters, dances off vents and gutters.

Wind howls through cracks and holes
like dragging buckets through a stormy sea.
Claps of thunder walk away momentous
blasts again southwesterly.
The tempest circles north, rides with devils
on grenades, rips through whirlwinds
and back out again, echoes through the Doña Anas.


(Note: Originally written in 2005. Revised in 2007.)

Red Hand

The wind brought
a gift today.
Outside my door,
a small hand greeted me--
lying in the dirt
scribbled with red Crayola,
excess paper cut around every finger,
a happy high-fiver
waiting to be found--
I set it on my kitchen table,
wishing me a good day.

I remember drawing hands
in my youth, turning
them into turkeys or plants,
decorating them with glitter,
painting them in rainbow colors,
one for every mood.

I imagine the child
who created this.
Did the wind snatch it away from her?

I will display it for her
on my refrigerator.

Daybreak

The wind whistled at the moon
      raked every star like leaves
the rain poured a million tears
      stretched a river in flowing veins
thunder cut the clouds in two
      black night closed a torn sky
the sun spoke daybreak
      trees catch the afternoon

Exchange

the wind is a dialogue
between whirling thoughts
that follow my ambiance--
from places of veneration
to days of awareness,
from moments of merit
to times at fault

my thoughts drift through cracks
like a silent draft
floating on high
or spiralling low

the wind sighs
sweet sounds of life
as a sailing vessel
on a smooth course
gliding through water
exchanging ideas
between then and now

a conversation circles
back from gusts to whispers
speaking from various directions
what only I can hear
and keep confidential

(2007)