by Ethel Mortenson Davis
On the rim of the canyon
you came to me
and with piñon winds
kissed my ears.
You came
in last night’s snowfall
as sheets of white
dropped from the sky
on red rock valleys
And then again
as you pushed the clouds away
this morning, dazzling us
with red, white, green, and blue colors.
Now, with feather sounds,
you come,
bringing juices and sustenance
in the piñon seeds—
enough to get us
through the night.
Perhaps the world will live
one more day
while piñon wood warms us,
breaking our fevers in the night
so we can dream
good dreams
before dawn.
fourwindowspress 